


How To Endure The Earth

by empty_room



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Eventual Happy Ending, Fantasy, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Sexual Assault, Sexual Slavery, Sharing a Bed, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_room/pseuds/empty_room
Summary: Finch had always expected that the ambassador from that strange northern land, with his funny accent and strange way of dressing, would leave him with nothing more than a few pairs of expensive earrings, a necklace or two, some very pretty hairpins and maybe a few coins to hoard below the loose floorboard under his bed. That was, after all, how most grand lords ended their affairs with pretty brothel boys.“If I buy you, would you want to come with me?” Zariel had said, at the end of one evening, after he had bathed and while he was getting dressed.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 125
Kudos: 184





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not just write sf! I occasionally like to wander into fantasy.
> 
> This story is set in a fantasy world, where I hope to one day write an epic, and covers the relationships between some of the more minor characters. This will probably not be updated as often as the Nine Lives series, but I have written down a vague plan. 
> 
> A couple of additional notes: while I have used 'Chosen Not To Use Archive Warnings', the story will contain non-explicit references to rape and underage sex. And naturally, due to the master/slave relationship, is there any real consent to be had anyway?

Finch had always expected that the ambassador from that strange northern land, with his funny accent and strange way of dressing, would leave him with nothing more than a few pairs of expensive earrings, a necklace or two, some very pretty hairpins and maybe a few coins to hoard below the loose floorboard under his bed. That was, after all, how most grand lords ended their affairs with pretty brothel boys.

“If I buy you, would you want to come with me?” Zariel had said, at the end of one evening, after he had bathed and while he was getting dressed.

Finch had laughed, thinking it was some sort of joke. Many men made such offers after spending nights with him, but in the cold light of morning most remembered that he was a brothel-born slave, no more suitable for a normal household than a turd in a hallway. The ones that did not were dissuaded easily enough by a high asking price and his master’s unwillingness to sell a slave so lovely and so loyal. And anyway, it was a dirty thing to sell a house-born slave, an ugly act in the eyes of the gods. Finch was safe. Everyone expected that. Even the master – who paid for tutors to teach him to read and write and do sums in the desire to make sure he would still be useful when he was too old to just be pretty.

“Of course,” he had answered the great lord, thinking the offer was no more real than anything else in this room. He liked this lord – Zariel was kind enough, even if very foreign, and handsome, unlike most of his patrons.

Zariel did everything properly. He paid the master exactly, even though it would not have been required from the likes of him. He gave Finch appropriate little gifts – sweets and small boxes of tea and the occasional bit of jewellery. He did not get Finch naked immediately every time. Sometimes he spent almost the whole evening sipping sweet tea while Finch played the zither. Finch had absolutely no idea what went on in the man’s head. Zariel’s handsome features were as opaque as a wall.

Finch forgot about the conversation over the next few weeks, busy with appointments, helping train one of the new boys, practising the zither, helping the master with accounts, and very occasionally managing to play cards with the boys he shared his room with. No doubt the fine people at the gaming tables would turn their noses up at that game played secretly on the floor with playing cards worn paper thin, for stakes no higher than a couple of coins or a minor piece of jewellery, but it was played with far more skilful bluffs and better wielded smiles.

It was a surprise to everyone when the morning game got interrupted by the steward. It was even a greater surprise when none of them were to be punished – when the only thing the steward said was to Finch. “Get dressed and pack your things.”

“What?” Finch was the only one who had dared speak. The words made absolutely no sense.

“The foreign madman has told the duke he wants you. We are to deliver you.”

Finch was frozen, blank with an absolute terror. This house was home. He had been raised here, had his first patron here, grew up in the backrooms where the whores talked about everything out of earshot of the free, sunned himself in the garden in the mornings when no one was up, took beatings from the master when he went over the line, learned to climb the roof when he wanted some solitude. He had never been anywhere without the house guards looking after him, keeping people from touching what was not theirs and settling his tiny bills at the sweet stand or at the tailor or at the tea house.

“We will get him ready, sir.”

“Dress him in day clothes. No need to give the foreign madman any silks. And bring him to the office.”

A short time for a private goodbye was all the kindness Finch could have expected. Everyone knew the fear of being sold to a stranger, and thus those who cared for him made sure to show all their regard. One person combed his rich brown hair and pinned it up with a gold-plated pin that glimmered just right. The day clothes were plain linen trousers and a shirt, but it was important to give a new master a good impression, so Finch ended up wearing the emerald earrings Zariel had found to match his eyes and a bracelet that some patron had given him years back. He was far too pale, so a little powder and rouge were necessary.

Someone wrapped all of Finch’s belongings with a scarf because he seemed utterly lost, unable to start. His ivory offering bowl, his small purse of coins, a small collection of jewellery, a few cosmetics, a scripture book, a scrap of cloth that still vaguely resembled a toy rabbit. There was no guarantee he would get to keep any of it, but there was always hope.

Finch had to be led to the office, holding the bundle and trembling. A couple of swift hugs and kisses to his cheek and that was that. Inside the office, the bundle was opened up again, to checked for anything stolen.

“Are these not Sparrow’s?” the master asked, picking up a pair of delicate silver earrings.

“He gave them to me, master,” Finch answered immediately, staring at the floor. He was not going to say that he won them in a game none of them were allowed to play.

The only response was a sigh. The master flicked though the book, counted the coins. He did not even remove the earrings. Finch got the entire bundle back. It was a very small life indeed. He could have taken more and not been punished for it.

“I did not sell you.”

Finch looked up. He believed this.

“You are a gift to the ambassador. Behave accordingly.”

“Yes, master. Thank you.” Finch had spent too long here not understand both the regret and the warning. He knelt, pressing his forehead to the carpet to show that he was grateful. And he was. His life could only be harder now.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Yes, master,” Finch said, retreating. He bowed twice in the doorway, knowing the gruffness hid something warmer. This would be the last time he ever got to see this man, who had determined every aspect of his life from when he was born.

Then it was time to go to the waiting carriage. The guards were in the duke’s livery and they treated Finch exactly like a parcel. He felt the absurd urge to flee, back up the stairs and back to his master’s feet. But he got in meekly, sitting down alone. He listened to the guards chatter as the carriage started to move – he was so far below their notice that the more interesting subject was whether there would be any meat in the lunch stew today. Progress was slow through the busy streets.

At a grand house, he was deposited in an antechamber and left to stand in a corner, utterly ignored as servants and slaves passed him on their usual tasks. He waited until his legs began to hurt, and then with no explanation he was taken to kneel in a drawing room. The sheer boredom made his terror dissolve a little. He knelt for so long that his legs began to go numb, but he did not dare move, just in case someone would catch him misbehaving.

And then abruptly, the wait was over. “Yes, that is the right boy, thank you. I will take him to my cousin. Up.”

The last word was aimed at Finch. He stood up as fast as he could, stumbling as his legs almost refused to bear his weight. He knew the voice, and the accent – this was one of the ambassador’s men.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes, lord,” Finch answered, keeping his gaze low.

“Follow me.”

Finch had to almost run to keep up. He was out of breath by the time they went down several corridors, up the stairs, down the stairs, though a garden, across a courtyard, and then to another carriage. Finch knelt on the floor of it, as was proper, holding his bundle and stared at the embroidery on the man’s robe. Feathers and hawks, picked out in delicate silver thread on dark silks.

“I am Taehe. I manage my cousin’s household. Do you speak Rwene?”

“Some, Lord Taehe,” Finch said. He spoke it well enough, but it was better to under-promise and seem modest than over-promise and disappoint.

“Good,” Taehe said, instantly switching the language. “You will tell me when you do not understand.”

There was a pause, so Finch said, “Yes, Lord Taehe.” The Rwene words always felt weird to him, too soft, but so many traders spoke it that every whore in the city needed to know enough to at least ply their trade.

“You stink of a brothel. First we will have to bathe you.”

Finch flushed, going red to the tips of his ears. He was clean. He always made sure to bathe properly. “Yes, lord,” he said quietly.

“And what is that on your face? Ridiculous.”

Finch did not need to comment on that. He stared at Taehe’s hands. They looked scarred and hard. The hands of a warrior, despite the fancy silks. From what he had glimpsed of the man’s face, Taehe was older that Zariel, but had the same almond shaped eyes, so dark they were almost black, and same golden skin. The hair was the same straight black, tied back in the single braid. Taehe was handsome too. It would not be so bad if he had to please this man too, but it would be hard. This man was never going to treat him kindly.

When the carriage stopped, Finch had to chase after Taehe again. He could not even take a look at where he had arrived until they stopped in a luxurious bathroom. Finch was quite sure that he was not going to get to enjoy it. Servants fluttered at Taehe’s gestures, already fetching hot water and soaps and oils.

“What are you holding?”

“My things, Lord Taehe,” Finch said, holding the bundle tighter.

“Put that down and undress.”

Finch bit his lip, and then put the bundle down. A servant took it away instantly, and Finch wanted to run straight after it, but he behaved. He could not start his life in a new household so poorly. This was a dangerous time for any slave. He had to be obedient, and quiet, and make absolutely no enemies. He dropped his clothes to the floor. They were taken away too.

“Wash him.”

Taehe’s gaze burned all the way while the servants washed Finch from head to toe, scrubbing him with a rough cloth until all of his skin was red. His hair was washed multiple times, getting the fragrant oils out. His skull stung from the rough handling. He winced as his hair was combed out, but made no sound. Once it was over, Taehe circled him once, watching him shiver with absolute indifference.

“Take that silver off him. Gold is better.”

Finch twitched as hands replaced the jewellery in his nipples and dick with simply fashioned gold.

“Cut his hair.”

“No!” Finch gasped despite all his manners.

“To his shoulders is enough,” Taehe instructed as if Finch had said nothing.

Finch tried to pull away, but the hands that held him in place were too strong. He watched his hair fall to the floor and be carefully swept up. It had not been cut since he was a child. It had been a part of his value, a part of what he had been admired for. Now it was garbage on the floor.

“Let it dry and burn it at the shrine.”

This had to be some foreign custom Finch did not understand. He told himself that hair would grow again. His new master had liked to play with his hair. Lord Zariel would want it to be long again, surely.

Someone put a light robe over his shoulders, plain and unadorned, and demonstrated how to tie it. She whispered, “Lord Tae’s not always such an ass. Good luck,” and that made Finch almost smile, a little more at ease. Things could not be so terrible if servants had nicknames for their masters, surely.

Next he was taken to a dressing room, where Taehe considered silks against Finch’s skin. “I know you are a little slut, but my cousin is in love with you. Should you take advantage of that, I will feed you to the carrion birds, piece by piece. I will begin with your feet and your hands and work my way to your heart. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lord Taehe,” Finch said immediately. He was not sure that he had fully understood, but he got the gist and the tone of voice suggested that was the only correct answer. It seemed utterly absurd that the ambassador might be in love with him. Taehe could not have possibly meant that.

Taehe threw a robe at Finch that was dark green silk and some gauzy things that were probably meant to go under it. “Get dressed.”

Finch caught everything and draped it over his arms, not sure what to do. These robes were in the northern style and he had never had cause to wear such things. “My lord. I am sorry. I do not know how to—”

There was no need to understand all the things Taehe called him, in Finch’s opinion. He was glad he did not know all those words. But eventually, it was made clear to him he was meant to put on the thin trousers under the plain underrobe, then the gauzy thing over that, and then the silk one on top, fastened by little buttons. It seemed like an absurd amount of clothes. He got socks, but no shoes. He was certain that he was never going to see the sandals he had arrived in ever again.

“That will do, I suppose,” Taehe concluded.

When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, Finch could barely recognise himself. He had rarely covered so much skin. His face was too pale, and his hair was drying in a fluffy mess around his face. He had never realised it might curl. He tried to flatten it with his fingers. He looked absurd.

“Lord Taehe—” he began, very quietly.

“What?” Taehe snapped.

Finch had to finish the question now. “May I have something to tie my hair with?”

Taehe made an irritated sound and found a strip of leather. Since nothing better was on offer, Finch tied his hair back simply, just wanting it out of the way. It looked a little better tied up, at least.

“Lord Taehe, how may I please my master?” Finch asked warily, not knowing who else he could ask this thing.

“How would I know?” Taehe said. “Follow me.”

And Finch scrambled to chase after him again. Down a servants’ corridor. Up one flight of stairs. Along another long corridor, with windows down into the courtyard garden. Finch tried to look, but a moment later he had to run after Taehe, his socks a little slippery on the polished wooden floor. Then into a servants’ corridor, and then out onto a main corridor again. The ambassador’s residence seemed vast and Finch was lost.

Finally, Taehe opened the door to a small but luxurious sitting room. Finch saw a window seat piled with cushions, a small table with two chairs, empty shelves. Two doors led out from it. Taehe opened one – it led to a bedroom, and Finch glimpsed a bed piled with pillows and fine quilts.

“Zariel will see you when he feels like it,” Taehe said, and left. The lock clicked as he turned the key to the little suite.

Hearing the lock click as the key turned made Finch laugh, slightly hysterically. He tried to stifle it with his hands, not wanting to hear that awful sound. As if he would have anywhere to go. All he could do was wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Finch did not know what he was meant to do alone in these rooms. For the first hour he stood there, lost, flinching every time he heard footsteps in the corridor. But nothing was happening. Nothing was likely to happen. It was utterly dull to simply stand there.

The sitting room was furnished in beautiful dark wood, polished to a shine. The chairs were upholstered with fat yellow cushions that looked wonderfully soft. The carpet was like nothing he had ever seen before, thick and plush, with patterns of vines and small blue flowers woven into it. To his relief, the pitcher on the table was full of fresh water. At least he would not have to be thirsty while he waited.

Finch went over to the window. The room was above a courtyard garden, planted with an absurd luxury of flowers. There must have been an army of gardeners to keep it in order. He opened the window a crack, inhaling the fragrance from below. There was a thin ledge outside, just wide enough for him to stand on, if he dared. He settled into the window seat, playing a little game with himself where he imagined where he might go if he could step out of that window. Maybe he could sneak into the next room. Maybe he could climb down into the garden and touch the flowers. Maybe he could go up above and see how high he could get. But he was not going anywhere today, and the reality of it took all the fun out of his daydreams.

For a while he watched a pair of girls chasing each other around the garden below. A couple of times he leapt to his feet as he heard footsteps outside in the corridor, but each time they kept walking. The need to piss eventually forced him to explore the rooms further. The door out to the corridor was locked, of course, so Finch tried the other closed door leading from the sitting room. It did not budge. Locked from the other side, Finch realised. He wondered where it led to. If he had a hairpin, he could have picked the lock and found out. (If he had a hairpin, he would not have picked the lock anyway. He would not have dared.)

He headed into the bedroom. It had another glorious carpet, this one with red flowers, a very comfortable looking armchair next to the fireplace, and a bed piled with pillows and fine quilts. There was no chamber pot under the bed or in any of the corners.

Half-concealed behind a tapestry, he found another door. He tried it immediately, and found what he was looking for right behind the door. He fumbled with the unfamiliar clothes, but he managed without incident. Only after he was done did he look after the room, finding all the drawers and shelves empty. There was a washbasin, but there was no water in the jug. He had been left water to drink, but no water to wash with, so that must mean his wait was not meant to be too long.

There was a mirror in the closet, and he paused to study himself for a moment. He undid the hairtie and combed his hair with his fingers. It had been cut very evenly, very precisely. Somehow that was of little comfort. He missed the full length of it, the easy way of twisting it up into a knot. His shorter hair _was_ fluffy. The ends curled weirdly. He tied it back up, not wanting to look at it anymore. It felt mutilated.

He went back to the bedroom and simply looked at the bed. Was that the bed his new master would fuck him on? Or would he be taken somewhere else? He considered trying out the bed, but the opulence of it kept him away. If he was going to be fucked on it, maybe he should leave it as a surprise for later. He did not understand his own wariness of it. It was just a bed.

And just like that, he was out of things to do.

Without any better ideas, he headed back to the window seat. He settled in the cushions to look at the sky, leaning his head against the frame. The sky was already changing colour, orange towards the horizon. At home, he would have been getting ready for the evening, surrounded by chatter, the discordant noise of instruments being tuned, servants running up and down the stairs. He would get to pick his own clothes, and his own jewellery, and he would have had a limited choice about what patrons he would take to his room.

The idea of needing to please just one man scared him, even if Zariel had never treated him badly. Finch was not a proper bed slave. He had never been trained to keep one master’s attention for day after day after day. The stakes had been lower back at the brothel. If one patron got bored of him, there were others that would desire his company. If his new master did not want him, Finch had no idea what would happen. (Or perhaps he did, but he simply did not want to think about it.)

It was impossible to be bored and afraid for hours on end. He wondered when he would see his master. He worried if it would go well. It would be different here. But eventually, he was simply tired and hungry, and in another little while he managed to doze off right where he was sitting.

In the quiet, the turn of a key in the lock was as loud as a bell.

Finch started, too confused about where he was to do anything sensible. It was dark now. His legs were stiff, but he pulled himself to stand just in time as the door opened – not the door to the corridor, but the other locked door in the sitting room. In the light of the lamp the person carried, he glimpsed enough finery to know he needed to at least bow. But going too low was always better, so he knelt, pressing his forehead against the carpet. He had hoped it would be his master, but this was a young man, at most a couple of years older than himself.

A foot poked Finch in the side. “Have you been waiting all day? Never mind, of course you have. Did anyone feed you?”

“No, sir,” Finch answered cautiously.

There was a sigh. “I will get you something.”

The oil lamp was placed on the table. Finch sat up as the footsteps walked off, back into the dark. This person knew the house so well that they needed no light at all. Finch laced his fingers in his lap – now he had to wait. He had no idea who this person was or what rights they had regarding him. He was glad for the lamp, though.

At least Finch did not have to wait too long. Hardly any of the oil had burned before the man was back, carrying a plate. Finch tracked it with his eyes as it was placed on the table. He could smell cheese and preserved meats and bread. If there was no one watching, he would have leapt at it.

“You’re very pretty, aren’t you.”

It did not sound much like a question. “Thank you, sir,” Finch said, lowering his eyes. He was not going to eat anything until this person left.

“I heard your name is Finch, like the bird. I am Irisel of the Isai.”

Another one of Zariel’s relatives. Finch bowed his head. “My lord, I apologise for not addressing you correctly.”

“How were you supposed to know?” Irisel said lightly, unconcerned. “You might like to know that uncle is at a dinner. He will not be back for hours yet.”

“Oh,” Finch said, very, very quietly. This was his master’s nephew. He would need to be careful. He did not want to offend.

“He will probably wish to see you when he returns, but you can relax for now.”

This was not relaxing at all. “Thank you, sir.”

“For what?” Irisel asked.

“For letting me know, sir. And for bringing me something to eat,” Finch said, baffled by the question. Normally people liked being thanked by slaves for absolutely nothing.

“Oh. Well. Uncle would be annoyed if you went hungry for no reason,” Irisel said. He poked Finch’s knee with his foot. “Get up. I want to see you properly.”

Finch rose gracefully. He straightened his spine, but he kept his eyes down, not wanting to any chance of seeming disrespectful. Younger men were always more conscious of potential slights, and Irisel seemed very young. As unpleasant as it had been to be with Lord Taehe, Finch would have preferred his presence.

Irisel brought the lamp closer, circling Finch slowly. “You _are_ beautiful,” he said, touching the bare skin on Finch’s neck.

Finch did not flinch. He let Irisel tilt his head one way and then the other, making sure not to meet Irisel’s eyes at any point. It was not so easy when they were almost the same height. The lamp was so close he could feel the heat of the flame on his cheek.

“Look at me,” Irisel commanded.

Finch looked at Irisel’s nose. It was a little crooked, like it had been broken once.

“Ah, your eyes are green. How pretty. What does uncle like about you?”

“I don’t know, Lord Irisel,” Finch answered – it was easy to be honest when faced with that question. He had never got a hint of Zariel’s emotions.

Over the last year, since Zariel had started visiting him, he had been fucked in every position he knew and had played the zither until his hands hurt more than once, but he had never had anything he could consider a conversation with the man. All he had thought was that his looks were simply to Zariel’s taste, and perhaps that Zariel liked music. Neither of those things were reasons to own him. There were more skilled musicians in the slave markets, and far more beautiful bed slaves. Finch knew he was no great beauty – he was pale, like a decorative slave should be, but there were freckles over his shoulders and back that marred his skin. His hair was a deep brown, not blonde or those russet reds that fetched the highest prices. At least he was lucky that his frame had never showed any sign of broadening out.

“You really don’t know, do you,” Irisel said, with a small snort. He ran his thumb along Finch’s jaw.

At the caress, Finch knew that Irisel was going to keep touching him. He took in a little breath, steeling himself not to twitch. When Irisel’s hand moved to the back of his neck, Finch’s shoulders tensed a little, but he took half a step forward when Irisel tugged. He could not resist. He did not know if Irisel was allowed to do this, or what the rules were, and he was afraid. When people bought bed slaves for themselves, they were not generally known for wanting to share them with relatives.

“Sir,” Finch said, wanting to beg Irisel to stop touching him.

But Irisel kissed him instead. Finch froze. He did not kiss back, but he managed to remember to part his lips a little and accept how Irisel wanted to taste him.

“You are lovely,” Irisel said, grinning as he pulled back. “Don’t tell uncle. I’m sure he would be furious.”

Finch’s stomach dropped. He took in a sharp little breath. At least Irisel removed the hand from the back of his neck. “Thank you, sir,” he said, very quietly. He did appreciate that warning.

“Hm.” Irisel gave Finch a contemplative look.

Finch was too off-balance to control himself when Irisel touched him again. He flinched as Irisel squeezed his dick through the robes, as if just to check what was there.

“Not bad,” Irisel assessed, letting go.

Finch could feel his face burn. How many people had touched him, and he was embarrassing himself in front of this entitled brat? He should not have been thinking this way at all. He bit the inside of his mouth, trying to suppress his thoughts. Irisel was his master’s nephew, and his master was not here.

“What, you’re not going to thank me for that?”

“Thank you, Lord Irisel,” Finch said quickly, bowing his head. He should always be grateful for a compliment.

Irisel stepped away, putting the lamp back on the table. “Eat and rest,” he instructed. “It will be a while before uncle is back. Remember to put out the lamp when you are done eating.”

“Yes, Lord Irisel,” Finch said, bowing deeply.

He did not straighten up until he heard the door shut behind Irisel and the lock click as the key was turned again. He wiped his mouth, hoping that he would not get in trouble for that kiss. Before he was hungry, but now he was both hungry and nauseous. He wanted to pace, but that would make noise, and a good slave did not make any unnecessary noise. It was the first lesson that he had ever learned. He knew should eat like Irisel had instructed, because he could not afford to skip this meal. If they had forgotten to give him any food all day, it could happen again.

He knelt in front of the little table, looking at what was on the plate. It all seemed too rich with his stomach so unsettled. He broke off tiny pieces of the bread, chewing each one slowly until the nausea retreated enough. It was good bread, white and soft. Probably baked that morning. What a luxury to waste on him. He had to appreciate it.

When his stomach felt a little better, he looked at the other things on the plate. The cheese was mild, at least, so he ate some of that, and when it stayed down, he went for a piece of the cured sausage. It was spiced and delicious, and Finch did not know what sort of meat it was. Something very dark. Regretfully, he restricted himself to only eating a couple of pieces. As much as he would have liked to eat more, he knew his stomach would not tolerate it. He did not eat meat often enough, and almost never something so intense. He did not want to risk spending his first night here vomiting, so he concentrated on finishing off all the bread, and then washed it all down with a few sips of water.

After he was done eating, he stared at the little flame of the lamp, knowing that he was meant to put it out. It had never been dark back at home. Every room always had multiple candles and lamps with fragrant oils, to make sure the patrons got to see what they were buying. Finch did not know the dark well at all. He leaned against the table, watching the flame flicker, very slowly working himself up to blowing the light out. When he finally managed it, the room felt even darker than before Irisel came.

He knelt in the silence until his eyes adjusted again, and then he went back to the window seat. The moonlight was brightest there, even though he was colder by the window. He settled on the cushions again, watching the stars in the sky. Since he had slept already, he found it hard to fall asleep again, even though he knew it was the best way of passing the time. The house was silent now, and he was back to being bored and afraid, not even having hunger to distract him anymore. He fretted about whether he had behaved correctly with Irisel. He wondered what the punishment for something like that was.

When Finch woke up again, the Wayfarer had set, but the Vagabond was still high in the sky, and his neck hurt. It had to be only a couple of hours before the dawn. He was not sure what had woken him at first – but then he heard it. Someone moving around next door. Low conversation. He leapt to his feet as he recognised the sound of Zariel’s voice. He chewed his lip, more nervous than he had ever been for a patron.

Listening carefully, Finch stood in the middle of the room, silent and still, waiting. But the sounds in the other room got quieter, and then there was nothing it all. Finch sank to his knees, disappointment fighting with relief inside him. His master would not see him tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Zariel woke up with his neck stiff and his back hurting. He was still exhausted. The sun through the window was too bright, but at least it was warm. He had not even closed the curtains. He let out a huff of breath, shutting his eyes again for just a moment and stretching out. He had fallen asleep in the armchair. A terrible mistake, as always. The tea that Irisel had served was there, stone cold on the table next to him. He was still wearing half of his formal robes. The rest were draped over the chair, probably crumpled enough to upset the servants. With a quiet sigh, Zariel picked up the teacup and took a sip. Yesterday’s tea was vile. After he swallowed it, he would stand up.

Thus steeled, Zariel pulled himself from the chair. The dinner last night had been long and very dull, but full of potential pitfalls. He had only drunk enough wine not to be rude, and he had returned so late that the whole house had been quiet and dark. Only Irisel had been still up, dutifully waiting. Zariel had asked for tea, sat down, and then… He had slept. Irisel would not have woken him up.

Zariel yawned. This was the only moment of the day he would have to himself, so he had to savour it. He undressed until he wore nothing except the innermost layer of his clothing – loose linen trousers and a thin shirt. Finally, he felt like himself. He washed his face at the basin, and then unbraided his hair, pulling out all the silver and the rubies he wore as the regalia of his rank and dropping them onto the dressing table. Unbound, his hair came down to his thighs, wavy from how it had been constrained. Last time it had been cut was when he was seven and knelt for the first time before his god. Twenty-one years later and he had never had a reason to cut it again. He had never been defeated in battle, and he had never had cause to mourn a lover.

He twisted his hair into a simple knot and put a plain wooden stick through it to hold it up, yawning again. It would be combed and braided again later, when he got dressed for the day. For now, he moved through the slow stretches to loosen his shoulders and his back, standing in the square of sunlight coming through the window. It helped.

He was not even finished when Irisel arrived with a tray of breakfast and tea that was still steaming. The servants that followed brought fresh water for the washbasin and picked up all the clothes Zariel had dropped to the floor. Irisel placed the tray on the table while a servant took away the old tea. And then, Irisel stood in front of Zariel and bowed deeply. That was how the day began.

“Honoured Master of the Seven Sorrows,” Irisel said, greeting Zariel by his formal title, then straightened up.

Zariel acknowledged Irisel with a nod, then finished his stretches before sitting down to eat.

“Will you bathe this morning, my lord?” Irisel asked as he poured the tea.

“Yes.” He needed it. He probably still stank of wine and those vile scented candles they burned in the banquet hall.

A servant was immediately dispatched to prepare the bath. Irisel was good at this. Zariel’s mornings had become far less annoying since he had this particular nephew’s service.

“Did you have a good evening?” Irisel asked.

“No.”

Irisel tilted his head slightly. “Do you wish to see Taehe this morning?”

“About what?” Zariel asked, busy eating. The bread was still warm. Everything in the kitchen was timed to be perfect for his meals.

“About the brothel slave,” Irisel said. Half the city had known where Zariel chose to spend free evenings. The ambassador sent by the lord of the Isai was always a fascinating subject for gossip. Handsome and foreign and with strange tastes. What else was better to talk about?

“Why?”

“I thought you would be… Upset when you saw him,” Irisel said, choosing to be diplomatic.

“He is _here_?”

“I assumed you knew that Taehe put him next door,” Irisel said.

“I did not know. Taehe did not choose to inform me. And why would I be upset?” Zariel asked, managing to keep his tone even.

“Taehe took his hair as the sacrifice to the god.”

“He did _what_?”

Irisel twitched delicately. That had probably been loud enough to be heard in the kitchens.

Zariel rose, abandoning his breakfast. He shoved the door to the consort’s quarters open and was greeted with Finch prostrating himself so very properly in front of his feet. Finch must have been listening right behind the door. Zariel was not surprised, somehow. He was used to people constantly listening in to everything he said.

“Fetch Taehe,” Zariel commanded.

Zariel did not have to turn to see that a servant was dispatched instantly. He looked down instead, judging the tension in Finch’s shoulders. He gently nudged Finch with his bare foot. “Sit up,” he said, a little more gently.

Finch sat up, lacing his fingers in his lap and keeping his eyes down. He flinched when Zariel untied his hair and examined it. Zariel was so obviously disappointed.

“My lord. Please finish your breakfast,” Irisel attempted.

“Later,” Zariel said, running his fingers through Finch’s hair. He massaged the back of Finch’s neck, feeling Finch relax a little. This was not Finch’s mistake. “Wait here,” Zariel instructed, retreating to his room. He left the door ajar, but Irisel immediately closed it again, so that Finch could not stare. Nothing was going to stop Finch hearing the ensuing argument, however.

Zariel sat back in his chair, picking at his breakfast as he waited. And Taehe made him wait – no doubt taking his time getting ready. The problem with being served by family was that they all had their pride.

“Cousin,” Taehe greeted, when he finally arrived, bowing exactly. “You are not dressed.”

“What is that slave doing here?”

“It is a gift for you,” Taehe said simply. “The duke thought you should own what you enjoyed so many times. It would be rude to… Dispose of him.”

“Taehe. What gave you the idea that I would want him next to my room?”

“Do you not enjoy convenience? Why do you need to travel for him to please you?” Taehe answered dryly. “Should you not get dressed? You said you would attend court before noon.”

Zariel ignored the question. “And if he is a gift for me, _what_ gave you the idea that you have the right to touch his hair?”

Taehe shrugged. “A sacrifice needed to be made.”

“That was my responsibility,” Zariel said, fuming.

“I thought you would appreciate not having to deal with it,” Taehe said.

“You presume too much,” Zariel said, deeply annoyed. He doubted that Taehe would have explained what the hair was for or performed the rites with anything except a perfunctory air. “I should have you whipped.”

“Over a slave?” Taehe said, with a small snort.

“Over your continued disrespect, Taehe.”

“Come, cousin. Don’t be absurd.”

“Lord Isai sent you to me, so we must live with each other,” Zariel said. “Why must you make it so difficult for me?”

“I am the one making it difficult? Why can you not—”

“If you were my equal, I would challenge you to a duel,” Zariel interrupted. “But I cannot lower myself in that way. However, if you wish to challenge me for my position, you are free to do so. Otherwise, remember your place. You can bow to me, or you can return to your little castle on its little rock.”

Irisel looked from Zariel to Taehe as they stared at each other silently. Zariel’s expression was cold and Taehe’s perfectly blank. This was a battle too.

Eventually, Taehe had to bend. It cost too much to challenge Zariel. He bowed deeply, “It appears that I have made an error about your desires. My apologies, cousin.”

Zariel let out a slow, slow breath. “Next time you overstep I _will_ have you whipped. Arrange for proper clothes for the boy. And anything else he might need. And do absolutely nothing else, _cousin_.”

“Yes, Lord of the Seven Sorrows,” Taehe said, bowing again. He made the title sound sarcastic, but Zariel had won already. To comment would only dishonour Zariel.

“You will keep him?” Irisel interrupted, surprised.

“Of course I will keep him,” Zariel said. He had a responsibility over a life given to him.

“You will take him north?” Irisel asked.

“Of course I will take him north. What else would I do, leave him outside on the street when we go home?” Zariel answered. The question was truly absurd. “Unless you have something to say, go away, Taehe.” Irisel was sometimes foolish, but at least Zariel never wanted to push him out of a window.

Taehe bowed and swept away, quietly furious. Zariel did not care how that was dealt with so long as he heard nothing of it.

“Will you finish your breakfast?” Irisel asked, moving on already. His face revealed none of his thoughts.

“No,” Zariel answered. “Take it next door.” Finch would understand that gesture. Here it was a bizarre show of regard to let a slave eat the master’s leftovers.

Zariel did not need to check if Irisel obeyed as he headed to his bath. Irisel’s ancestral home was a glorified goat shack, and Irisel knew that the only way to earn anything better was to become indispensable to someone of higher rank. Family politics were always a strange game, and Irisel was learning to play it well. At only eighteen, it boded well for a long career.

In the bath, Zariel stared at the mosaic ceiling, letting the hot water relax him. Finch was a problem he could not deal with in this moment. Now he had to focus on playing the other game – how should he acknowledge a gift that was supposedly thoughtful but subtly demeaning? A pleasure slave from a brothel was a low gift. It would have been better if he had received one of those ridiculous southern horses that could not endure real snow. Could Finch endure real snow? Southern songbirds were not always made for mountain climates.

And then his thoughts were interrupted again, by arrival of servants with towels. He put on fresh underrobes and headed back to his room, where Irisel had already laid out the more ornate robes. Dark grey with clouds and mountains was a good choice for the overrobe, appropriately forbidding. Zariel yawned as Irisel handed him first the dark red robe, smelling of fragrant herbs. He shrugged it on, checking that the slits lined up. He strapped a dagger to his thigh. Irisel no longer asked if he was paranoid.

Irisel helped him with the overrobe, making sure that the collars were all layered correctly, showing just the smallest flash of red. The symbolism was overt – grey for the stone of the mountain, red for blood – but sometimes Zariel would have liked to wear other colours.

When he sat down, Irisel pulled the hairstick out, letting Zariel’s hair fall. Having Irisel’s sure hands braid his hair was one of the advantages of his rank. It was easier when someone else put in all those little ornaments that said who he was, where he came from, and what battles he had won. The silver had a weigh to it greater than simply its mass. This was putting on his face, putting on his armour.

“Thank you, Irisel,” Zariel said, and rose to put on his swordbelt himself. He found that when he did not carry a sword, people thought that he was tame.

“Your carriage is ready,” Irisel said.

“Get dressed.”

“My lord?”

“Come to court with me.”

Irisel blinked.

“Get dressed, get your sword, and join me.”

“I need some time, my lord. I will make you wait.”

Zariel shrugged. “I will be in the gardens. Come when you are ready.”

“It will upset Taehe.”

“Taehe is already upset with me,” Zariel said lightly, leaving the room. He knew that was not what Irisel had meant, but he ignored it. The simpler option was to leave Irisel with no choice.

Zariel walked through his favourite section of the gardens as he waited, idly examining the flowers. This was also time that he could steal for himself. The sun was warm and bright. A little too warm, so he stuck to the shade, walking on the grass instead of the pristine footpaths. Irisel was going to make a face at him later for getting dirt on the hems. Zariel hoped Irisel was going to take his time, but Irisel was annoyingly swift.

“Good,” Zariel said, looking Irisel up and down. Fine silk, deliberately plain to go with Zariel’s own clothes. A simpler pattern in hair, with only a few silver ornaments. Irisel had a talent for both dressing correctly and dressing well. It had not been what he had expected when he took Irisel.

“Thank you, my lord,” Irisel said.

Now there was nothing else to do except go. Zariel turned, walking to the carriage, and Irisel walked exactly behind his shoulder, everything in the right place, except for Finch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, my posting schedule died. my family exhausted me and ate all of my spoons and all of my writing time. it's hard being away from the cupboard i normally live in for weeks. ._.
> 
> hope you all enjoyed meeting zariel! let me know what you think ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Finch was so close to the door that it almost hit him in the face when Irisel opened it. He just about managed to scramble gracelessly out of the way.

Irisel laughed. “Should have stood next to the door, not behind it,” he said, depositing the tray with the remains of Zariel’s breakfast on the table. Heedless of Finch straightening his clothes, Irisel looked around the rooms. He saw the pristine bed. “Where did you sleep?”

“Um,” Finch said, glancing at the window seat.

“ _Really_ ,” Irisel said, staring curiously at Finch. “You should rest. Uncle will probably want you tonight. And Taehe- Well, you heard everything, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Lord Irisel,” Finch admitted.

“Be very polite to him if he comes to check on you,” Irisel said. “Kneel and call him lord. He likes that sort of thing. Now eat.” And he swept out just as swiftly, leaving Finch blinking in his wake. Unlike Finch, Irisel had things to do.

A few heartbeats later Finch remembered to move. He scrambled to the food. He was hungry, and it smelled good, and his master had commanded it was sent over. That was a good sign, surely? He pulled the chair closer to the table and sat down, leaning over the plates. The bread was no longer warm, but it was so fresh it had to have been baked that morning. Finch tore into it. There were slices of a cured sausage, half a boiled egg, pieces of several types of cheese and small pickled vegetables, heavily spiced. Finch did not like those, but he did like tiny pastry parcels filled with chopped meat. It was far too much food for one man. The most absurd sort of luxury to serve all this, every morning, but Finch supposed that someone else always got to finish what Zariel did not.

Finch froze as he heard Zariel return to the room next door, but it was mostly quiet – Finch guessed that Zariel had to be getting dressed and ready to leave. Finch did not go back to the food until he heard Zariel and Irisel leave, and he waited a few moments after, just in case, before he picked up the cup of cold tea and slowly sipped it, relishing the bitter taste. Zariel’s tea had been freshly brewed. Finch picked up tiny crescent shaped pastries and found that they were filled with a rich paste made from ground nuts and sugar. He could not believe that someone would leave a thing like that and ate every single one. He felt a little sick immediately after.

Finch was still feeling a little sorry for himself when a whole collection of servants swept in. He leapt up from the chair, but they took almost no notice of him at all, speaking a dialect of Rwene that Finch was unable to follow. The words were cut down and accented so strangely he could catch no more than the occasional word, adrift and meaningless. It was barely anything like the language spoken by merchants and nobles and his patrons. Finch did his best to try to figure it out. If he stayed in this house, he would need to learn how to understand these people.

All of the cushions got fluffed up, the tray of food was removed, the pitcher of drinking water refilled, the non-existent dust swept up, the chamber pot taken away and a clean one put in its place. Finch only moved to keep out of the way. Steaming water was bought up for the washbasin and Finch realised he was meant to do something only when a very stern looking woman with a scarred face took his arm and led him to the closet. She coughed and tapped her foot.

Finch stared at her for a moment, but he got the hint. He started to undress, awkward with the unfamiliar clothes. She hung up the robe when he took it off and seemed satisfied when he was completely naked. He washed his face and his hands first, unconcerned by the attention. His body had never been a private thing. The bath was a luxury he was unlikely to get again anytime soon, but he enjoyed this more. He was getting to wash himself this time. The water was still hot, and the washcloth was a nice one. He worked fast, not wanting the water to be cold by the time he was done.

When Finch was finished, another servant took away the dirty water and he was handed fresh underclothes, all fine linen, a little too loose on his frame. They had been made for someone a little taller. He was glad to get woollen socks again. The floor was cold to walk around on barefoot. This house was not as warm as home had been. A new overrobe was handed to him, this one in dark blue with silver detailing around the buttons. When he pulled it on, the woman did all the buttons for him. Perhaps she thought he was stupid, but Finch liked the silence. It felt he was simply on her list of daily tasks and she wanted it done with as efficiently as possible. Finally she nodded, satisfied, and left him, and suddenly he was all alone again.

He found that while he had been washing, tea had been left in the sitting room, obviously for him. There was a single cup in front of one of the chairs and a teapot that was warm to the touch. He got the hint and sat down, pouring the tea. From the colour and the smell, he could tell that it was either a third or a fourth brewing of those leaves, but he did not mind. Of course he would not get the good tea. He was new to the household and his status was unclear. At least what he got was still better than plain water. He wasted as much time as possible drinking the tea, but it was still morning when he ran out of it.

There was nothing to do in these rooms except watch the sunlight move across the floor. Finch got up and spent some time looking out of the window at the garden. No children played in it this time. A gardener spent a while picking up all the fallen leaves. Some birds hopped across the branches of a tree, but they failed to keep Finch’s attention.

He wondered if the doors had been locked again, and spent a while working up the confidence to try them, getting more and more tense until he finally stood up. He tried the door to Zariel’s rooms first, knowing that there was no one in there, and jumped when he found that it did open. He closed it again immediately and found that he had no bravery to go any further than that. It was absurdly disheartening. He went back to the window seat, leaning his head against the frame, feeling as abject as those times that the master had taken the switch to the soles of his feet.

After a while, he began to wonder if he was going to get lunch.

He was still wondering about that when Taehe entered from the corridor, flanked by two other men. Finch leapt up and knelt, very neatly and precisely. This was not his master, so he was not sure if he had to kneel, but Irisel had warned him to be respectful. It was best to err on the side of caution. He said nothing, because he got the sense that the sound of his voice might annoy Taehe. With men like that, it was best to wait to be spoken to. He stared at Taehe’s shoes when Taehe stopped in front of him.

“Lirin dressed you?”

“I… Assume so, Lord Taehe,” Finch answered, making a guess. The servants had not bothered to introduce themselves to him.

“The woman with the scars,” Taehe said.

“Then yes, Lord Taehe,” Finch said. Taehe seemed to find that answer more satisfactory. Finch was relieved that Taehe did not seem as angry as he had been when Finch eavesdropped on the argument. Finch felt sorry for whoever had suffered to put Taehe in a better mood.

“Strip,” Taehe ordered.

Finch hesitated momentarily, but Taehe had the right to order that. Finch started to undo the buttons again. So much time had been spent putting all of those clothes on him that it seemed silly to take it all off again for someone who was not even going to fuck him. He draped each piece over the back of the chair, all the time conscious of Taehe’s cold gaze.

“The boy is quite pretty,” one of the men commented. “I think for his colouring, greens, dark reds, those things would suit.”

“No red, no dark grey. He is not to wear anything that could be mistaken for family colours.”

“Does this extend to jewellery?” the other man asked.

“Yes,” Taehe said.

The next step was for the two men to begin to measure Finch exactly. One man did the work, and the other wrote every number down. Finch shifted whenever they instructed him to. He did not understand why they needed _all_ those numbers.

“He will also need riding clothes,” Taehe said.

“Riding clothes!” the man measuring Finch asked, surprised. “Can he ride anything except a cock?”

“I assume not, but we can always put him on a donkey,” Taehe said.

Finch kept his face expressionless as everyone else laughed. Of course he did not know how to ride. Who would teach that to a brothel slave? Horses scared him. Donkeys did not seem much better. He hoped Zariel would not wanting him riding any large animals. He did not like the way that Taehe looked at him.

“Put your clothes back on,” Taehe ordered, once the measuring was finally done.

Finch did it as quickly as possible, finding that his hands shook a little as he tried to do all the buttons. He did not look at any of the free men. He did not look up as pieces of cloth were held against his skin, and as further notes were made about that. He did not know why he felt so humiliated, but soon enough he was left alone again.

A while after, he found that he did get lunch – a silent servant brought over a bowl of simple stew and watched while Finch ate it. There were a couple of very tiny pieces of meat, but mostly it was carrots and parsnips and other root vegetables. It tasted good, but it was a lonely meal. He had never eaten like this before. Every meal at the brothel had been a communal affair, all of them sitting at the same table. No doubt that the servants ate like that somewhere, but he was not a servant. Soon enough he was alone again.

Finch knew that he had no place and no rank in this house until Zariel made it clear to everyone where he stood. He was stuck in this room until Zariel said that he was allowed to be somewhere else, to do something other than just sit and wait. He knew little about the lives of personal pleasure slaves, but he knew enough to know that how the whole household treated him would depend entirely on how well he pleased Zariel. Did Zariel even want him? Hours passed as he worried about this, sunlight becoming mellower and warmer as the day dragged past.

A servant came once to light the fire as the day got cooler, and Finch kept on waiting.

Almost all of the sunlight was gone when _finally_ there was commotion in the house. Finch stood up. He wanted to pace, but he stayed still, right next to the door, not wanting to make a noise as he listened to people coming upstairs, as he heard Irisel and Zariel speaking, as he heard servants delivering a meal next door. He felt as taut as the string of an instrument just before it broke. For a while it was very quiet. Finch assumed that it was while Zariel was eating. There was some conversation after, but too quiet for Finch to make out the words. After, he heard Zariel dismiss the servants. He heard Zariel dismiss Irisel.

If not now, it would be never. Finch stepped back from the door, standing in the middle of the carpet, unsure of what to do. His hair was as neat as it could be. He had washed this morning. He did not have any makeup to make himself look better, but there was nothing he could do about that now. Lamplight was always flattering, anyway.

Finch bit his lip as he listened to footsteps next door. He could only wait. He wondered what Zariel was doing all alone. He knew so little about Zariel’s private life. Those hours he had spent entertaining Zariel in the brothel had taught him surprisingly little – what music Zariel preferred, and what sexual acts he particularly enjoyed. It left him at a loss now. He had never thought he would need to know anything else. It had not seemed like Zariel had wanted him for conversation anyway.

And then, _finally_ – finally, the door began to open.

Finch sank to his knees, making sure the robe fanned beautifully out on the floor, and then bent to press his forehead into the carpet with all the grace that he could summon. He glimpsed Zariel’s bare feet, and then Zariel walked past him, looking around the rooms first. If Finch did not know better, he would have thought that Zariel was not sure how to start.

“Sit up.”

Finch obeyed, lacing his hands in his lap. He looked up as far as Zariel’s knee. Was it a good sign that Zariel was wearing only an underrobe? Finch knew too little to tell.

“Did you have a very boring day?”

That had to be some sort of trick question. Finch bit the inside of his mouth, and then decided to answer it honestly, “Yes, master.”

Zariel sighed. “This room is depressing. Come with me.”

Finch’s heart leapt. At least there was one thing he could stop worrying about. “Yes, master,” Finch said eagerly, rising to follow into Zariel’s private rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am particularly inspired to write about being stuck in rooms right now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> i feel kinda in a rut, so all your very motivating comments would be even more appreciated than usual


	5. Chapter 5

Zariel led the way to his sitting room and collapsed in the armchair closest to the fire, graceless and exhausted in a way that immediately put Finch off-balance. Finch did not know this tired man. He hesitated for just a moment before he sank to his knees in front of Zariel, close enough to be touched. He would not have wanted to inconvenience this man by being too far away.

Finch did not know whether it was better to stay silent or to speak. He bit his lip, trying to be subtle about looking up at his master. Zariel was still as handsome as the first time Finch had seen him. His eyes were too narrow and long to be considered beautiful here, but the iris was a grey so dark that in the low light of the lamp it was simply black. Finch knew that in better light they were the colour of a stormy sky, like something out of a story, and Zariel’s skin was so flawless and pale that even Finch had occasionally felt envious. Zariel did not have a single freckle anywhere.

Finch was used to Zariel being impeccable. Seeing him with a few hairs escaping from his braid was strange. Somehow, Finch had thought that Zariel must have been as vain as a peacock in private. Looks like Zariel’s had to be maintained. Hair as black and shining as Zariel’s needed expensive and precious oils, his nails had to be buffed exactly, and that sort of skin tone required never spending too long in the sun. Finch had seen Zariel wear outfits that would have bought half a dozen pleasure slaves. Silks embroidered with silver thread, rubies and pearls, on cold days trimmed with precious and exotic furs. He had seen Zariel arrive with everything perfectly arranged every time and Zariel had never left without putting everything back into place.

But right now Zariel wore only a single underrobe, and Finch could see a fox and her kits playing in the grass right by the bottom hem, picked out in black and bright green thread. It was such a silly little scene that Finch revised his assessment. Zariel’s outer clothes were the display for the outside world, to distract from the truth of the man that wore them. Finch felt like he knew even less than he had thought.

Zariel did nothing, and the silence seemed to drag on and on. Finally, for want of anything else to do, Finch said, “How may I please you, master?”

Zariel sighed, stretching out a leg. The movement made Finch twitch, skittish, and Zariel sighed again. “You have no confidence in my rooms.”

Finch laced his fingers together and bowed his head. He did not think he was meant to say anything. There were no instruments here he might offer to play. No music for him to dance to. There was only his body to give, and he was not even properly prepared. And it was different here. Zariel’s word had always been life and death, but here that truth felt harder and more absolute.

“You cannot like being taken from your home.”

“It is a great honour to be here, master,” Finch said, very cautious. It seemed like Zariel wanted a conversation, but it was hard to know what he was meant to say.

“Honour has never kept anyone warm at night,” Zariel said.

It seemed like a strange thing to be said by a man with the word ‘honoured’ in his titles. “I… Suppose not, master,” Finch said, floundering. “I would not know about these things.”

“Would you not?” Zariel said. “But you said it is a great honour to be here. Did you not know what that meant?”

Finch bit his tongue.

“People lie to me all day,” Zariel said. “Do not do it too. I know you are good at it, but you have your tells.”

“Yes, master,” Finch said quickly, relieved that his mistake did not seem to lead to punishment. He glanced up at Zariel’s face. Zariel looked even more tired now. “I wish only to please you.”

“Yes, I know,” Zariel said, reaching down to touch Finch’s cheek. “That is the nature of what you are. So. What will please me is that when you speak to me, you do so honestly.”

“Yes, master,” Finch said. This seemed simple enough, but he knew that was difficult in practice. Most men did not really want to be told the truth, and he did not know Zariel enough to guess where the line lay. He would never be able to speak freely.

“Anything I say here is not to be repeated, but you should find that simple enough, shouldn’t you?”

“Yes, master.”

“You can look at me. I can see you want to.”

Finch looked up as soon as he was given permission. He watched Zariel stare into the fire and fiddle with the end of his braid. This seemed like a bad sign.

“Master, may I please you with my mouth?” Finch offered.

Zariel’s gaze turned to Finch. He considered this for far longer than seemed reasonable, his expression impassive. “Yes.”

Finch smiled with relief. He placed his hand on Zariel’s knee to balance himself. With a gentle tug, he parted Zariel’s robe. At least this was a cock he was familiar with. It was average-sized and always clean – so he did not even mind putting his mouth to it, feeling it stiffen under his lips. At least he knew the little things Zariel liked. Finch curled his tongue around the head, tasting the slit, and swallowed Zariel down. Finch hummed once Zariel was filling up his throat, closing his eyes and moving his head at the pace experience told him Zariel would like. When he felt Zariel’s fingers in his hair, it felt like approval.

But then it took far too long. Any feeling of success faded as Finch’s jaw began to hurt. Finch had an errant thought that Zariel was going through the motions, merely doing what someone ought to do with a pleasure slave. That could not be right. And finally, Finch heard that way Zariel’s breathing hitched when he was close to coming. Finch felt only relief as he swallowed the come, bitter on his tongue.

“Thank you, master,” Finch said, his voice hoarse. He put Zariel’s robe back exactly how it had been and sat back on his heels, folding his hands neatly in his lap again.

Zariel’s only response was a snort. He stretched out in the chair and yawned, momentarily closing his eyes.

Finch bowed his head. Because there seemed to be an imminent danger that Zariel might fall asleep right there in the armchair, Finch spoke again, “Is there another way I may serve you, master?”

“Pour me some tea. I think it’s still warm.”

Finch touched the pot to check. “It’s cold, master.”

“Oh well. Pour it anyway.” Zariel preferred the quiet to calling for servants.

Finch was dubious, but he poured the tea into a cup painted with such delicate designs that he could not even imagine the patience and the skill required to make it. He knelt again as Zariel slowly sipped the cold tea, utterly baffled as to why a man like Zariel would choose to drink anything that was not freshly prepared. The whole house bowed when Zariel twitched a single finger. Finch wondered what it was like to have so many people at one’s disposal.

Eventually, the tea was finished and Zariel placed the empty cup on the side table. “Come to bed with me.”

Finch froze. “Master, I am not prepared,” he said immediately.

“Not prepared-? Oh.” Zariel laughed when he realised what Finch had meant. “I am too tired to fuck you.” He rose from the chair. “Come.”

Finch stood up, perplexed as to why Zariel would want him if not for sex. It was not unreasonable that he had expected the first time in his master’s bedroom would involve at least a little passion, that he would be ravished or something silly like that. But then again, he had also not imagined that Zariel’s bedroom would be full of clutter. He blinked, taken aback to see a dressing table covered with maps, jewellery, a pair of daggers, books where pages were marked with hair ornaments and combs.

It was an immensely distracting room. Informal robes were tossed on top of furniture. There was a map drawn on animal skin spread on the floor, with little stones marking specific points. Finch stopped himself just in time from stepping on it. Someone had put fresh flowers in a beautiful vase, but rather than add some elegance the effect was only to add to the confusion of the room. Finch saw a flute sitting on a shelf. It looked like it was carved out of bone. Was it true that the Isai carved instruments from the bones of their enemies? There was a pile of papers on a side table that looked like letters, with no apparent system of organisation.

The only thing in this room that had been placed with care were Zariel’s two swords, right next to the bed. Finch stared at them. Zariel had never taken those to the brothel. Two blades, long and slightly curved, sheathed in black and silver. Finch knew nothing about swords, but they looked very old and very well used. The hilts were dark leather and ivory, both beautiful and practical. Finch wondered why they were right next to the bed. Did Zariel expect to be attacked in his sleep?

“Would you like to touch them?” Zariel asked.

Finch jumped. But Zariel seemed amused rather than angry at his staring. Perhaps he should try this thing of giving honest answers. “Yes, master. But I know I am unworthy.”

“Good,” Zariel said.

Finch shifted from foot to foot as Zariel circled him. It was odd. He had never been more dressed than Zariel was before.

“You look pretty in our clothes,” Zariel said. “Better, I think.”

“Thank you, master,” Finch answered, a reflex to a compliment.

Zariel smiled slightly, sitting down on the bed. “Take it all off.”

Finch would have to work on taking all these layers off alluringly, he knew. Maybe he would have to practise in private tomorrow, he thought as his fingers stumbled over all the tiny buttons. He shrugged off the outer robe, but he did not know where to put it.

“Over the chair,” Zariel instructed.

Finch folded the robe carefully, not wanting to make an enemy out of anyone by crumpling something precious. Since Zariel seemed to expect him to keep going, he took off the underclothes too, until he stood utterly naked in front of Zariel. The carpet was soft under his bare feet.

“Come here.”

Finch took a step closer, wondering if Zariel had changed his mind about sex. He shivered at the light touch of fingertips over the rings in his nipples.

“I should get something nicer for you to wear,” Zariel stated, looking at all of Finch’s piercings. They were typical for most pleasure slaves around these parts – nipples, navel and genitals. Zariel always found it a little absurd how most whores had more piercings in their dicks than in their ears, but that was how things were done here.

“I would be very grateful, master.”

“No, you wouldn’t. It would just amuse me,” Zariel said simply, pulling back the covers. “Get into bed.”

Finch obeyed, sliding under the blankets. It was nice to lie on such a comfortable mattress, even if this situation was strange and confusing. Warily, he watched Zariel move around putting the lamps out. Once the room was dark, he realised that Zariel moved in silence and immediately wondered how Zariel managed not to step on any of the numerous things on the floor. He shifted over as Zariel got into bed, not sure what he was meant to be doing. Staying still, perhaps. He did not move as Zariel touched his side.

“Turn over. Not that way.”

Finch finally rolled to face away from Zariel. He breathed slowly as Zariel touched his hair, his neck, his arm, his hip, his stomach. The slow exploration implied that Zariel was pleased with his body, even if there would be no sex tonight. Finch relaxed a little.

“Go to sleep,” Zariel instructed eventually, turning away from Finch. He shifted until their backs were pressed together.

This was the strangest thing that Finch had ever done. He felt every one of the vertebrae in Zariel’s spine. He lay where Zariel had arranged him, utterly incapable of falling asleep, even long after Zariel’s breathing had evened out. After a while, Zariel rolled over onto his stomach, and there was no contact between them at all. Finch could still not sleep. He watched the dark. He watched it begin to turn grey. He listened to the little noises of the house. He listened to Zariel’s breathing, tensing every time his master moved. The strip of light between the curtains turned brighter. He was still wide awake when a sharp rap came on the door.

Zariel rolled over onto his back, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Finch did not dare move. No one had ever told him what he was meant to do in this situation. He twitched as Zariel patted his side. Finch heard people entering the sitting room – he had listened to this from behind a door yesterday, so he could make a guess as to what was going on. This was the servants putting the sitting room in order and bringing Zariel’s breakfast.

They had a few minutes of lying there in silence, and then Irisel opened the bedroom door and entered, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

“Honoured Master of the Seven Sorrows,” Irisel said, bowing in front of the bed, formal in a way Finch was unfamiliar with.

Zariel groaned quietly. He stretched out on his back and dragged himself out of bed. “Tea?”

“It will be ready in a moment, my lord,” Irisel said, handing Zariel a new underrobe. A servant was already bringing hot water for Zariel to wash his face and hands with.

Finch wondered if he was meant to be doing something, but this seemed to be a routine that did not involve him. He watched Zariel spend a few minutes re-braiding and pinning his hair up while Irisel busied himself clearing up some of the clutter in the bedroom. Despite being Zariel’s family, it seemed that Irisel’s function was to act as a personal servant. Finch wondered at the strangeness of that arrangement.

“Did you have a good night, my lord?” Irisel asked, and Finch could swear that Irisel winked at him while Zariel’s back was turned.

“It was fine,” Zariel said. It was entirely clear in the tone that Zariel wanted to roll his eyes. He headed to the sitting room where his breakfast waited.

Irisel raised his eyebrows at Finch but had no time to do anything else. He had to follow Zariel to pour the tea as ritual required, and then to perform the myriad of little tasks that Zariel’s full morning routine involved.

And in those few minutes that the bedroom was empty, Finch fell asleep, utterly exhausted.


	6. Chapter 6

Finch jerked awake barely half an hour later with Irisel’s face right over his. It was possibly the worst way he had ever woken up in his life and his heart hammered against his ribs. He had not even intended to fall asleep in his master’s bed. He should have waited until he was dismissed.

“Did he tell you to go?” Irisel asked.

“No, my lord,” Finch said, still trying to pull his mind together. “He did not speak to me.”

“Hm,” Irisel said. He patted Finch’s cheek. “Then you stay there.”

Finch rolled onto his side and yawned so widely that his jaw hurt. He felt utterly exhausted. He wished that he could have slept even for a minute longer. If he was a little less tired, perhaps he could have worked out what he was meant to do instead of staring blearily at Irisel.

“You look like shit,” Irisel said. “What is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t sleep well, my lord,” Finch said. He had not slept at all.

“Does he snore?”

Finch blinked. “No, my lord.”

“Then what?”

“I was… Too nervous, my lord.” Finch did not want to make it sound like a criticism of Zariel, so he added, “I was worried about displeasing the master.”

Irisel laughed. “Cute,” he said, looking over Zariel’s desk to find the right jewellery for the day. He arranged it into a little pile, separating it from the other clutter, then headed over to the closet. Finch half-dozed, watching Irisel lay out all the layers that Zariel would wear. Everything was the finest materials, the most precise embroidery. Finch wanted to touch the outer robe’s iridescent silk, but he knew better. It was worth more than he was.

Objectively it was not a long time before Zariel returned, but it felt like eternity. Finch wanted to sleep, but he could not sleep in this room. At least it looked like Zariel had slept well. He seemed to be in a good mood, idly humming as Irisel helped him dress. The silver thread glimmered as bright as moonlight against the dark grey silk, picking out a landscape of mountains and waterfalls down Zariel’s back.

“You got your hair wet,” Irisel grumbled when the time came to comb out that vast length of black hair.

As Irisel undid the ties that Zariel had put in his hair to keep it out of the way while bathing, Zariel’s hair tumbled down. Irisel pulled apart the braid that Zariel had slept with and picked up a comb. It was the first time Finch had ever seen all that black hair loose, down to Zariel’s thighs. When Zariel sat down, Irisel had to kneel to comb the ends of it. Finch felt privy to a strangely intimate moment.

“Only a little,” Zariel said.

“More than a little,” Irisel grumbled as he worked. Finch was amazed at the speed at which Zariel’s usual braid took form as Irisel wove silver into the hair.

“Remember that the Anai lordling is visiting later,” Zariel warned.

“He wants to fuck you again,” Irisel said, with a small laugh.

Finch blinked. What a strange piece of information. He wondered what Zariel was like with a lover instead of a whore.

“Don’t be crass. We had our fun,” Zariel answered. “He is simply bored and lonely. Entertain him if I am not back by the time he arrives.”

“Of course, my lord,” Irisel said. “What should I do with…” He gestured in the direction of the bed, where Finch had been content to be entirely forgotten.

“Be nice to him,” Zariel said. He rose to put on his swords and then checked himself in the mirror.

Finch watched Zariel minutely adjust the collar of the robe and smooth a hair into place. Tension kept him alert for now. He froze as Zariel’s gaze finally turned on him. What else was he except decoration in Zariel’s bed? He bit his lip as Zariel stepped over and caressed his hair lightly, like Finch was a well-behaved pet. He was glad that Zariel said nothing, but simply moved on. A moment later Irisel followed Zariel out.

The sound of the door shutting made Finch let out the breath he had been holding. Now he really had no idea what to do. Perhaps there was still breakfast. He _was_ hungry. The last meal he had eaten was yesterday’s lunch, and that felt forever ago. He started to sit up. He put one bare foot on the carpet, and his courage failed. He flopped back onto the pillows. They were the finest pillows that he had ever put his head down on, and he could not sleep and he could not leave. He did not know where he was allowed to go, and he did not want to make a mistake.

Finch rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow so that not a single sound could escape as he sobbed. There was nothing else to do. He could not even take solace in knowing that he had pleased his master. All that had happened was a blow job so long that Finch had worried it would never end and Zariel going to sleep. It was a good sign that he got to be in this bed, but it was little solace. He had to do better next time. Pleasure slaves that could not please their masters did not last very long. Everyone knew that.

By the time he heard someone enter Zariel’s rooms again, he managed to quieten himself to little hiccups. He listened to the servants talk as they cleared up the front room. There was Zariel’s breakfast leaving. He mourned that too. It was far finer food than he was going to get.

Then the servants were greeting Irisel. Finch bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood, until he could be silent again. He wiped his eyes and sat up. He had to be composed when Irisel came to check on him. Maybe his awful dilemma of what he was meant to be doing would end.

“You look even worse now,” Irisel said, as soon as he came in. “Have you been _crying_?”

It took all of Finch’s self-control not to start crying again. He did not like being so obvious. “No, sir,” he said, staring at the carpet.

Irisel did not believe that for a second. He pushed Finch back down onto the bed and pulled the covers away.

Finch lay utterly still. He gasped when Irisel tugged on the piercing on his nipple, and pressed his hands to his mouth just as fast. He should not make a sound. Surely Irisel could afford other whores? Finch despaired as Irisel tugged lightly on the ring through the head of his dick. A little spike of terror ran through him as Irisel pushed his legs apart.

“Don’t worry,” Irisel said, pressing his fingers against Finch’s entrance.

Finch gasped, staring at the ceiling. He could take a couple of fingers dry, but he prayed that Irisel did not decide to fuck him like this. As tense as he was, anything more would be agony. All his concentration was on staying quiet. He was certain this was not allowed, but he also knew that there was exactly no one who would help him here.

“Uncle didn’t fuck you, did he,” Irisel said mildly, pulling his fingers out. He went to wash his hands. “Is that why you were crying? I am sure he will get around to it.”

Finch said nothing. He wanted only to cover himself. This should have been nothing. It was just undignified. Worse things had happened, but this time there would be no one in the backrooms to commiserate with.

“You will have a bath, and then you may sleep in your bed,” Irisel said. “Lirin!”

The woman with the scarred face appeared immediately.

“Make sure he is washed and fed, then let him sleep.”

“Of course, Lord Irisel,” she answered. Amongst all of the mess in Zariel’s room, she found one of the robes that Finch had worn and tossed it at him. “Should we, ah, lock him in again?”

“I do not think there is any need,” Irisel said.

Finch stood up and pulled the robe on. He saw Irisel sit down at Zariel’s desk and begin to look through the correspondence.

“Come,” Lirin said, and Finch followed her into the narrow servants’ corridors. They ended up in a less luxurious bathroom than the last time. “Wait.”

Finch stopped where she left him. He leaned his back against the wall, and then slid down until his ass met the floor. Mostly, he was glad he was no longer in Zariel’s room. He rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes. He nearly jumped out of his skin when two boys arrived with buckets of hot water. It felt like he had closed his eyes a second ago, but that could not be right.

“Does someone have to wash you?” Lirin said, since Finch was doing nothing except staring at the steam from the water.

“No, ma’am,” Finch replied immediately, scrambling to his feet. He scrubbed himself thoroughly with the washcloth he was given, not wanting anyone to find fault with how clean he was. The hot water was wonderful. He wished he was alone so that he could take his time to enjoy it, but under Lirin’s gaze it was difficult. It made it even harder that she was chatting to the two boys in that dialect he did not understand. They were all laughing, and he could not tell if it was at him.

“Ma’am,” Finch said quietly.

“Yes?”

“If I required something, who would I need to ask?” This was something he needed to know. He certainly could not ask his master, and he doubted he could ask Irisel.

“You may ask me,” Lirin said.

“Thank you,” Finch said. He was certain that he needed to be very polite to this woman. “I need. Things to prepare myself with. For the master.”

“Ah,” Lirin said, catching his meaning instantly. “Isai men know only how to buy swords and clothes, hmm? Utterly useless.”

Finch stared at her.

“It will be dealt with. Are you done here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Finch said, stepping out of the bath. He could have spent longer with the hot water and the nice soap, but he could sense that she was getting bored and he wanted to stay on her good side. Being inconvenient or annoying when he did not yet know where he stood seemed like a mistake. He dried himself and put the robe back on. He yawned as he followed her back up the stairs to the rooms that he had spent so much time waiting in, and the rooms he was going to spend even more time waiting in. She left him there without a word, not locking the door behind herself this time.

Finch yawned and curled up in the armchair. The fires had been lit, and the morning sunlight was warming the air. He had somehow forgotten how early it still was. He hoped Lirin remembered that Irisel had ordered him to be fed too. His stomach was roiling with anxiety and hunger. Finch was not entirely sure that breakfast would satisfy it. But Lirin did remember – a girl came with a tray after a little while. It was not the complicated dishes that Zariel ate, but a little rough bread, a little cheese, a bowl of porridge with honey, and tea.

Finch just managed to wait until she left before reaching for the food. The bread was fresh, the cheese was delicious, and the porridge was exactly what he needed to settle his stomach. He left the tea for last. It was better than yesterday, stronger. A second brew of the tea leaves rather than third or fourth – simply by being in Zariel’s bed in the morning, his status had risen. It was a sobering thought.

As Finch slowly drank the tea, he wondered what to do. Next time he went to Zariel’s room, he needed to do better. He had to understand why his master had wanted him in the bed to just lie there, too. That had to be important. He had to make sure his master was less opaque to him. Now that he was no longer a whore, if Zariel got bored of him, he had exactly nothing. His stomach clenched at the thought. He could never go back home and anything after this would be worse. He kicked himself for putting so little effort into getting to know the man during their appointments at home. He had thought Zariel would eventually simply stop coming one day soon, so what would have been the point of all that work? That was how it usually went. Not this. This was a nightmare and he had to figure out how to make the best of it.

When he finished the tea, he decided that all he could do for now was sleep. If Zariel wanted him tonight, he had to be rested, and he had to be beautiful and graceful and obedient and all those other things that would be expected. He could only do that if he slept, so he put the empty cup back on the tray and went to the bedroom, curling up under the covers to keep out the light. For all his worries, he was still unconscious in moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after updating the other wip, i finally didn't feel guilty about working on this ^^;;;  
> commants are always loved <3


	7. Chapter 7

When Finch woke up next, he was disoriented. The bed was too comfortable, too soft, too big. He rolled over onto his stomach and opened his eyes. The sunlight coming through the crack in the curtains was blindingly bright. He did feel better. Less tired. He liked how he was clean and how he was warm under the quilt. Was this really meant to be his bed? It seemed far too luxurious, even if the sheets were not as fine as those in Zariel’s room.

Finch closed his eyes again, but he could not sleep any longer. He stretched out, pondering whether he should get up, but there was nothing for him to do. Might as well stay in bed until something happened. Maybe someone would bring him lunch sometime soon? That was what happened yesterday. It had to be about the right time. He was not too sure. Perhaps it was even later. He yawned, settling on his side so he could watch the door.

It was much easier to think now, but he no longer wanted to. He just had to do better the next night he got to spend with Zariel. Perhaps he should ask if he could play music again. A house this big had to have instruments he could play. He missed his zither and his flutes. He missed practising every day. And then he thought about the boys he used to share his rooms with, and he missed them so much that his chest hurt. He missed finishing every night talking with Sparrow, wrapped around each other in his narrow bed. They had never had sex, but there was something far more important than that between them. He wondered what Sparrow was doing now. Probably getting ready for the first appointments of the day. Finch wondered if he was missed back where his home had been.

He did not even get the dignity of moping uninterrupted. Lunch arrived. It was the same girl as yesterday and she did not smile this time either. Far too hungry to stay in bed, he dragged himself out while she was adding more logs to the fire and opening the curtains. He was probably a mess, in underclothes and with his hair uncombed and sticking up all over the place, but food smelled too good for him to care about any of that. He started to eat. It was stew again, but this time with pieces of river fish. It was well-spiced and delicious, and his body had demands he had to submit to. At least, even if everything was terrible, he got to eat well.

Before Finch was finished, Lirin arrived, carrying a couple of bundles that were probably clothes. She certainly outranked him, so he stood up immediately.

“Keep eating, boy,” she said, heading into his closet.

Finch sat down slowly and picked up the spoon again. He could hear Lirin moving things around in the closet. She would probably want him to get dressed soon. What would he get to wear this time? He finished the stew and sipped the cup of tea. Very sweet and smelling mostly of mint and lemon. It was nice. It passed some time.

When Lirin called for him, he stood up and went to the closet immediately. He noticed familiar sorts of boxes placed on a shelf – Lirin had got him what he asked for. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

“It was no trouble,” she answered. “We all like it when Lord Zariel is happy. Put this on.”

Finch stared at the underrobe she gave him. It was of linen so fine that he could see his hand through the material. The stitches were tiny and precise to not snag the delicate fabric. It was utterly plain and yet an absurd luxury.

“I told you Isai lords know how to buy clothes, hm? Put it on.”

When chided, Finch ended his reverie. He pulled off the robe that he had slept in and shrugged the new one on. It fitted his shoulders exactly, falling just to his ankle. The way the material folded just about kept him modest, but the sheerness of it left very little to the imagination. “Oh,” he said, moving to look at himself in the mirror. It would be easier to seduce Zariel again wearing something like this.

“Better,” Lirin said. She put an overrobe of turquoise silk over Finch’s shoulders, adjusting it minutely.

Finch turned in front of the mirror, looking at the pattern in the fabric – clouds picked out in thread so white it seemed to shine. He watched how Lirin turned the shapeless garment into a formfitting one with hidden ties and buttons. It was important to learn those things. He started doing the buttons up himself, before Lirin got to it. “May I ask a question?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known the master?”

“I saw his mother give birth to him,” Lirin answered with a small smile. “He was a very annoying child. Always nosy, always underfoot, always doing something he should not be.”

Finch tried to keep a straight face. He could not imagine Zariel like that at all. Zariel he knew was still, and quiet, and composed. Opaque.

“Can I ask, what is the other language you speak?”

“R’sie? It is the language of my people,” Lirin answered. “I am of… How would you say it here. Horse clans,” she pondered, knowing that specific clan names and locations would mean nothing to Finch. “We are the people of the steppe. Most of the people who serve Lord Zariel are my clan, even though he is a mountain person. He rides well enough, though.”

“Oh,” Finch said. He did not know what the difference between a mountain and a steppe person was. It sounded like Lirin thought it was obvious.

“Rwene is… It used to be the high language. Now it is the language of travellers, I think,” Lirin mused. “A month’s journey from Lord Zariel’s lands and no one will speak R’sie, even though we have many of the same words. But the tradesmen and merchants and all the nobles will speak Rwene. Even here, you had to learn it.”

“Yes,” Finch said. He wondered how much he was going to get to speak his native language now. Who even knew how to speak it in this house?

Lirin looked through one of the bundles that she had brought up and began to unroll one. “Lord Taehe said we should throw all this away, but I asked Lord Irisel too and he said we may give this back to you. This is for your gods, yes?”

Finch stared at the scripture book and the offering bowl that she placed on the shelf for him. “Yes,” he answered, his voice a little unsteady.

“The Isai god is the God of Dusk. In public, that must be the god you worship, but in private you may do what you like,” Lirin said. “Don’t many whores worship the God of Dusk?”

“Not here. Some, secretly,” Finch answered.

The God of Dusk was a god of many things. Evenings, of course, but also of unwise loves, thieves, whores, music, lost causes and last recourses. This was the only god that had walked all the paths between the worlds of the living and the dead, the only one to steal hope from death, who earned wisdom through pain. Finch wondered which parts of all that Zariel chose to worship.

“Ah,” Lirin said. “There is a shrine to the god as the Finder of Ways in the gardens. The Isai say that the god appeared in the form of a man to their great ancestor, and that their daughter founded their house. Who knows if that is true or not? Now, this jewellery.” She lifted the few pieces that he had arrived with. “You may not wear any of it here, but you may keep it.”

“I understand,” Finch said. It was too cheap to be worn in a house like this, as much as he liked it. He was glad to have it back.

She did not comment on the cosmetics or on the small purse of coin – it looked as full as it had been before. It was only the most minor currency anyway, not good for much more than buying snacks and a couple of trinkets. A thief would be embarrassed by taking it.

“I thought you were a little old for toys,” she said, when she took out the toy rabbit.

“Oh!” Finch said, relieved and embarrassed that it was so clear in his voice. Someone had mended all the tears in the rabbit with pale yellow thread and little patches of bright fabrics, as well as adding more stuffing to fatten it up. He picked it up immediately, lifting it to his face. It still smelled a little like home. “It is a keepsake,” he explained awkwardly. “From my mother. She made it for me. I don’t have. Anything else.”

“Well. Good, then,” Lirin said, looking just as awkward to be receiving these sorts of revelations. “We should finish getting you dressed. Lord Zariel is expected to be home earlier today.”

“Thank you,” Finch said, at this such unexpected kindness. She had not needed to ask both Taehe and Irisel. She had not needed to choose who she wanted to listen to. No one had needed to fix the rabbit.

“Aw, sweetheart, don’t cry about this now,” Lirin said, patting him on the shoulder. “The silk might stain.”

Finch laughed and tried not to cry both at once and hiccupped.

“Wash your face,” Lirin instructed.

Obediently, Finch poured himself some water into the washbasin and rolled his sleeves back before washing his face. The cold water felt good. He dried himself carefully so that not a single drop fell onto the silk.

“Lord Zariel has not been very attentive to you. You have nothing good to put in your hair,” Lirin commented.

Finch tried not to laugh. Shorn to just above his shoulders, his hair was too short to put much in it anyway. He could tie it back in a tail or in the shortest braid in existence. There was not really enough to put it up with decorative combs or hairpins. At least it was quick to brush.

“You must excuse him. He has too many duties weighing on him,” Lirin said.

“I understand there are more important things,” Finch said, smiling easily. He understood – she was fond of Zariel and wanted him to think of his master well. “It does not bother me.” He glanced at her. It was worth a try. “It is only. I have nothing else to do except wait for him to call for me. And he seems very busy. May I visit the shrine, perhaps?” Of all the places he might wish to go and all the things he might wish to do, that was the safest choice. Piety often went down well. And if the shrine was in the garden, he might get to be outside and stand in the sun for a little while.

Lirin clicked her tongue. “I will ask.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Finch said. This was the best he could hope for. Perhaps she could pick the answer she liked best again.

“I think you know how to finish getting ready,” Lirin said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Finch was glad that he got to be alone to finish up. She seemed kind enough, and so long as he was polite and never said a bad word about Zariel, he might be able to keep on her good side. He was not quite sure what her rank was, but he suspected it was probably to sort out all the snags that Taehe and Irisel created with how they managed the house. So long as he kept pleasing Zariel, keeping him in order would no doubt be on the list of her duties.

He was still in front of the mirror, pondering whether he should put on a little kohl when Irisel barged in.

“Good, you look presentable. Lord Saire of the Anai wishes to see you,” Irisel said.

Finch blinked stupidly, and then remembered Zariel saying that the Anai lord would visit. This person had to be important, if Irisel was fetching him. “How should I behave, Lord Irisel?” he had to ask. He did not know the proper manners for meeting his master’s friends.

“You will bow as deeply as you can, but you will not kneel,” Irisel said. “Be very polite and answer any of his stupid questions. If he orders you to perform simple tasks, do it.”

“Yes, Lord Irisel,” Finch answered, not sure this was sufficient guidance, but it seemed to be all that he was getting.

“Good. Come,” Irisel commanded.

Finch followed closely at his heels. They headed down one floor and along the corridor. Servants opened the door of a parlour. Finch did not even try to look around. He stopped when Irisel did and bowed deeply at the waist, keeping his eyes on the carpet’s pattern of leaves and flowers.

“Is this the boy?”

“Yes, Lord Saire. Straighten up,” Irisel ordered as he sat down on one of the chairs, settling comfortably.

Finch kept his eyes down as he straightened his spine. If Irisel was using honorifics, then he needed to be very careful.

“Very nice,” Saire decided. “Look at me.”

Finch looked up, keeping his face blank. He looked at a man dressed in the local fashions, with ink stains on the sleeve of a very fine shirt. Saire’s hair was long in the same way that Zariel’s was, and something was braided into it. Finch’s eyes widened when he realised every piece of jewellery the man wore was carved out of bone.

“Ah, it took him two seconds to make that face.”

Irisel looked a little annoyed. Finch was not meant to be making faces.

“I want to see him naked,” Saire said. “Tell him to strip.”

“I do not think that uncle would approve of that,” Irisel said, something cautious in his tone. Irisel was wary of giving a direct refusal. “Perhaps when uncle returns, you should ask him.”

“I’ve noticed you only call him uncle when you want to do something annoying,” Saire commented.

“It is my place to anticipate my uncle’s wishes.” Irisel smiled so sweetly that Finch could imagine exactly how he got his nose broken.

“Come closer, boy,” Saire said.

Finch looked at Irisel, and only moved when he saw a very small nod.

“You seem like a pretty boy that knows his place,” Saire said. “Does Zari like that?”

“I only wish to please my master,” Finch said, not knowing how to answer that question.

“Pretty boys that know their place are not such a rare thing,” Saire said. “You will need something better than that to keep Zari’s attention for longer than a season, don’t you know?”

Finch bit his lip. What Saire said was correct but agreeing might be lethal. (Not literally. But it was too much of a risk to say anything, in any case.)

“He does not seem very clever. Did you know what Zari said in court about this gift?” Saire said, turning to Irisel.

“I was not there that day,” Irisel said, always a little formal in his tone. In whatever hierarchy existed here, Saire was on top.

“Apparently. In front of the duke’s whole retinue, he said he enjoyed the joke very much, and that he is looking forward to seeing what the true gift will be.”

Finch dropped his gaze back to the carpet, his heart sinking. That did not seem like a good sign.

Irisel laughed. “It is a way to deal with the problem, I guess. Maybe now he is going to get a horse.”

“Do you know how to pour tea, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Finch said.

“Then pour it.”

It was easier to have a task. Finch walked quickly over to the table and poured with all the grace that he could muster. He did not look up as he offered the first cup to Saire and the second one to Irisel. At least he knew how to do this.

“He does move nicely. I see why Zari liked him. Not so beautiful anyone would go to war over him, but pretty enough.”

“And who is beautiful enough to go to war over?” Irisel said, amused.

“I hear the Lady of Ekarya caused a war by picking the wrong suitor. It sounded terribly romantic,” Saire said.

And so the conversation wandered into politics. Finch listened in, but there were too many names and places that he did not know for him to understand everything. He poured more tea when the cups were empty, but otherwise stood ignored. After a while he began to notice the subtle tension in Irisel, a certain unease. Finch was not the only one who was eagerly anticipating Zariel’s return.

“Oh, uncle must be back,” Irisel said, hearing commotion downstairs.

“I will go meet him,” Saire said, getting to his feet and sweeping out of the room, heedless of all protocol.

Irisel let out a sigh of relief only when Saire was well out of earshot. “Go back to your room,” he commanded, remembering that Finch was still standing there.

Finch bowed deeply, hiding his surprise that he was going to go anywhere on his own. He walked slowly down the corridor, but he could not stop himself from running up the stairs, wanting to be out of the way as quickly as possible. It was still exhilarating to move, even for those few moments, even though he did not dare take any other than the most direct route.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone told me to be nicer to finch


	8. Chapter 8

Zariel made a face at Saire’s very enthusiastic hug. “Why aren’t you still in the middle of the desert, measuring whatever it is you like measuring?”

“It turned out that there are no brothels in the middle desert,” Saire answered breezily, taking a step back to look Zariel up and down.

Zariel snorted and headed up the stairs, leaving Saire in his wake. He did not believe that sort of facetious answer. “I am guessing that your aunt sent you a sharply worded letter to find out exactly what I am doing, and you immediately had to abandon your studies.” He knew Saire loved astronomy more than anything else, whatever he claimed.

“She did. She told me if I did not behave, she would recall me and find me some poor woman to marry,” Saire admitted without any shame whatsoever, walking fast to catch up to Zariel. “What should I tell her? You must give me something good or be responsible for ruining my life.”

“Whatever you like,” Zariel answered. “It will not matter either way.” Any letters Saire might write would take weeks to travel back to the Lady of the Anai and by then the deals should all be signed and he should be on his way home.

“I also wanted to see your new toy,” Saire added.

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Who showed him to you?”

“Irisel, of course,” Saire answered with a smile. “He’s such a little brat. Is he _really_ your nephew?”

“Kind of,” Zariel said. A cousin’s child was close enough.

“Oh, I see,” Saire said. “It suits you to claim him. A minor relative with nothing to gain from poisoning your tea. Everything to lose if you die. Do you have some leverage on him? Of course you must, or one of your actual nephews would serve you.”

“Do you have to say it out loud? Are you trying to make me feel bad?” Turning to a servant, Zariel said, “I will eat in my rooms.” Let Taehe sit at the head of the table in the dining room.

“I will join you,” Saire said, heading towards Zariel’s chambers, familiar with the route. He ignored Zariel’s little sigh and threw himself into an armchair as soon as they entered. “You know Zari, your new toy is quite lovely, but you are still prettier,” Saire said, watching Zariel remove his overcoat and his swords. “What do all those courtiers think looking at you, more beautiful than their whores, deadlier than their generals?”

Zariel tried to supress his smile at the ridiculous flattery. “Why are you always like this?”

Ignoring the question, Saire said, “You are certainly more beautiful. But I think your new toy is sweeter than you are. He seems to have that going for him. You have never been sweet.”

This was also absurd. “Sae.”

“I don’t know if I should say anything—”

“Then perhaps you should not,” Zariel said.

As if Zariel had said nothing, Saire continued, “But your toy looks quite miserable. You should give him some attention.”

“I have been terrible,” Zariel said, sitting down in the other chair. He did not want to undress further in front of Saire. “I do not know what to do with him.”

“It is easier to have a couple, they keep each other company and talk shit about you behind your back,” Saire said lightly.

“Is that your advice?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Saire said, stretching out his legs. “Your people know how to dress him prettily, but they cannot tell him your expectations. You need to do that. Let him please you, but don’t be too nice to him. Give him some freedom, but not so much he gets ideas. And get him some nice jewellery. At least make it look like you care. Why don’t you have dinner with your family?”

Zariel made a face. “If I come, everything is set formally and no one speaks. I can relax if I eat alone.”

“But tonight you’re not eating alone.”

“You don’t count.”

Saire laughed. “You are still charming.”

As the food arrived, Zariel did not reply, leaning towards the plates that the servants set down. He ate mechanically, barely even noticing what he was putting in his mouth. All those meetings he had to sit through today were replaying through his mind, as well as a vague worry about what Saire was going to want.

“Your cook is _excellent_ , Zari,” Saire commented. “Can I have whoever it is when you leave?”

“She is coming with us,” Zariel answered, rolling his eyes. “I expect she also wishes to return home.”

“Are you going to take your little toy with you?”

“What else am I going to do with him?” Selling Finch would be dishonourable in the worst of ways, setting him free would end badly.

“Does he know?”

“I have not spoken to him about that.”

“You should probably tell him, so he has his little freak out now,” Saire said. “What is this?” He lifted a very small stuffed pepper.

“I have no idea, Sae,” Zariel answered, weary of sudden conversation changes.

“I love it. Spicy but fresh,” Saire said, before eating it. “I’m going to send my cook to get some recipes.”

“Do what you like,” Zariel said.

“You are in a terrible mood,” Saire observed. “What is wrong with you? Everyone says your negotiations are going well, you have a lovely boy that wants to do nothing except please you, and your people are feeding you wonderfully.”

Zariel only sighed.

Saire smiled and stood up. “Your duties weigh too heavily? Then forget them for a little while. Tell the servants to bring us wine. Let me unbraid your hair and lie with me,” he said, putting his hands on either side of Zariel’s face and tilting it up for a kiss.

“Not today,” Zariel said, pushing Saire away lightly. Not ever again, but it was wiser to leave Saire with some hope.

“Ah, well,” Saire said, sitting down again and turning back to the food. “I would have suggested we share your pretty boy. You don’t seem to be putting him to enough use.”

Zariel frowned instantly and deeply.

Saire laughed. “He is just a whore, sweetpea. He’s probably had ten men a night since he was twelve, why are you looking all possessive?”

“He is mine now,” Zariel said.

“You are hilarious. What’s next, you’ll ask him if he _wants_ to fuck you?”

Zariel did not answer. Instead he glowered while a fresh pot of tea arrived. He dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand.

“I can see I am annoying you. So how about this. I know the duke is attending his brother’s wedding in the next few days. And I know that you were not invited. Something to do with your cousin burning down the bride’s home, is that not so?”

“Yes,” Zariel said drily.

“How many cities has your cousin burned down so far?”

“Why are you like this? Get to the point.”

“Anyway. I know you will have some days free. Let me take you for a picnic. Come ride out to the forest with me. Bring along your little whore, if you want.” Saire smiled brightly at Zariel’s expression. “Stop looking at me like that. We could even do a little hunting. How often have you had cause to get your bow out recently? Think it over.”

Zariel sighed. “I will. Consider it.”

Saire smiled victoriously. He poured tea for both of them. “You should relax a little. You look exhausted. If you say yes, I will go after I finish this tea.”

“Fine,” Zariel conceded. “I will go. But you will invite no one else.”

“Of course not. I know you will be all grumpy if I do,” Saire said. “You are the most difficult of my friends.”

“We are friends?”

“What else are we? We are equals. We do not need to suffer each other, and yet we choose to.”

Zariel snorted into his tea.

“Ah, finally, I made you laugh. I was beginning to think you’ve forgotten how.”

“You are always absurd,” Zariel said.

“So tell me, for the sake of my aunt, what is it that you have told the duke? Is it the Isai classic? ‘The emperor is far away, the gods are high above, and my sword is at your throat’?”

“I do not like that translation.”

“Oh, so it _is_ what you said?” Saire teased.

“Ah, pretty much,” Zariel answered. “He will sign and send Lord Isai tribute, but the only question is how much he has to pay. He does not want to find my cousins outside his gates building siege engines, after all. But for now, he seems to want to haggle with me for the last copper.”

“I heard somewhere he wanted to pay in slaves.”

“Somewhere?” Zariel raised his eyebrows. Saire collected gossip with consummate skill. “Lord Isai would not accept slaves. We do not need them. We need metal and wood, or the coin to buy it with. And of course Lord Isai could make do with silks and jewels, but he prefers to receive tribute in more practical forms.”

“Not horses either?”

“The horses they breed here cannot endure our winters. It is too expensive to keep them warm and fed.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You should come to my house for a winter and see what it is really like.”

“Is that an official invitation?”

“You may consider it one,” Zariel said. “But I know you are a soft southerner, and you simply do not have the endurance to survive.” They could pretend that was the reason Saire would never set foot in Zariel’s city.

Saire laughed. “You are right. I have always hated snow. I can just about take it here, but the stuff that your lot write poetry about would make me throw myself off a mountain.”

“Then don’t come. The world would be darker without you in it.”

“I would have thought mockery to be below you.”

“Didn’t you say you would leave after you finish your tea? Your cup is empty.”

Saire smiled. He understood that he had pushed his luck far enough. “Then I will take my leave.” He pressed an affectionate little kiss to Zariel’s temple. “Look after yourself.”

As soon as Saire left, servants came to take the dishes away, and then Irisel to summarise Zariel’s correspondence. None of the news from home were worrying. His sister was pregnant. His aunt was still ruling in his place. They hoped he would return before the snow. Then there were all those invitations to social events. Zariel decided to attend just enough to be polite, send Taehe to a few in his stead, and told Irisel to write gracious refusals to the rest.

Zariel dismissed Irisel when it came time for him to undress. Finally alone, he removed his jewellery, dropping his rings and all of his earrings into a bowl. Undoing all the buttons of his robe took forever, but it was better to do it alone than to endure Irisel’s chatter. It was only to prevent Irisel’s complaints in the morning that he hung the robe up.

As he unbraided his own hair, there was a part of him that regretted refusing Saire. He had met Saire for the first time over a decade ago, when he was only the fourth in line, when letting Saire push him into a bed cost him nothing. Slowly, he combed out all the kinks, thinking about the way that Saire used to kiss the back of his neck, the way Saire had felt inside him. But he could no longer afford that sort of entanglement. He knew himself well enough to know that if he let Saire into his bed again, he would allow the Anai far too much influence over his actions. For the likes of them, there could be no act without politics.

With his hair still loose, Zariel went and opened the door to Finch’s room. As was exactly proper, Finch knelt at his feet, face down into the carpet. He did this prettily too, always with the grace of a dancer.

“Were you eavesdropping? Don’t worry, you can say yes. I am used to it.” Zariel doubted that he had a single conversation in the last year that was truly private. Only the thoughts in his head were his own.

There was a long pause before Finch said, “Yes, master.” He did not look up, perhaps still expecting punishment. There was no trust between them yet.

Zariel smiled. He appreciated the honesty, at least. “Come to my room.”

Finch rose and bowed again for good measure before following Zariel to the bedroom. He stood in the middle of the room much like a misplaced ornament. Zariel settled in the chair next to the fire, twisting his hair out of the way so he did not sit on it. The days were still hot, but the nights were starting to get cold. His time was limited.

“Come here.”

Finch moved immediately, kneeling in front of Zariel’s feet, his hands neatly folded on his lap. Zariel looked at those slender, clever fingers. The fingertips were calloused from all those hours of practise, Zariel knew from all those times that he had commanded Finch to touch him. Some preferred their whores to have soft hands, but Zariel had always preferred those marked by their skill.

“Are you hungry?”

“No, master,” Finch answered, keeping his eyes down.

“You heard that I will take you when I leave the city.”

“Yes, master,” Finch confirmed, cautiously. Saying that he had eavesdropped was one thing. Having a discussion about it was another thing entirely.

“What do you think about that?” Zariel asked.

Finch looked up with the smallest furrow between his eyebrows. A question without an easy answer. “Master, I will go where you command.”

“It does not matter to you? Is this city not your home?”

“No, master. My house was my home, and I can never return there.”

“I see,” Zariel said. He knew this, at least – to return Finch where he had come from would be the greatest shame to everyone concerned. He watched Finch for a moment, seeing that careful stillness, reading the wariness in how Finch held himself. He had not looked, before. “I have not treated you well.”

Finch dropped his gaze. That was a statement he did not dare answer.

“Is there anything you wish to say to me? Anything you wish to ask for?”

Finch chewed his lip, thinking for a while before he said, “I did not start working at twelve. I was fourteen. And I never had ten men a night.”

Zariel could not help laughing. Out of all the things that Saire had said, that one bothered Finch? “I know. You were too expensive for that sort of work. There would have been no point to teaching you to play as well as you do and then wasting you in that way.”

Finch flushed.

“Little bird, if it troubled me how many men you had, I would have given you to my guards, not left you next to my bedroom,” Zariel said. Seeing Finch shiver, he continued, “I am sure you understand that you are a gift that is meant to dishonour me. I am meant to accept you and then the entirety of the duke’s court is meant to laugh behind my back.”

“Yes, master,” Finch said. A used whore. It was a joke, one that a stupid foreigner would not understand.

“You are fortunate that my honour has nothing to do with what I put my cock into,” Zariel continued, watching Finch listening so intently. “I was taught that when a life is given to me, I am responsible for that life. So I will keep you, little bird.”

“Thank you, master,” Finch said.

Zariel put a foot into Finch’s lap and saw immediate relief in Finch’s posture. This was what Finch understood. With light fingers, he removed the sock and began to massage Zariel’s foot. Zariel almost pitied him a little, concentrating so intently on such an absurd task. After a while, Zariel gave him the other foot for the same treatment. Finch’s thumbs digging into the arch of his foot felt absurdly good after spending so much of the day standing.

“You look very beautiful. That colour suits you.” That shade of turquoise brought out all the rich, warm colours in Finch’s brown hair.

Finch smiled slightly – for the first time, perhaps. “Thank you, master.”

“I would like your mouth, I think,” Zariel said, parting his robes himself this time. He was hard already, tugging Finch in. He needed this after the day he had, and he needed it to get Saire out of his head. He leaned back at the heat and the tightness of Finch’s mouth. It was familiar in a good way, and so he closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in Finch’s hair. Finch could take being held down for a few moments, his throat all filled up with Zariel’s dick. Zariel rocked his hips forward, holding Finch in place as he came, and let go exactly when he was done.

Finch coughed, sitting back on his heels. He made no attempt to fix his hair or straighten his clothes.

“You may pour yourself some water. Or there is cold tea in the sitting room, if you prefer.”

Finch bowed and stood up, heading to the front room. As Zariel listened to him move, he wondered how Finch felt using the same cup as he had. He stretched out his legs, waiting for Finch to return. It did not take long before Finch was kneeling properly at his feet again. The robe fanned out perfectly.

“May I serve you in another way, master? Perhaps I could comb your hair, or tie it for you?” Finch offered, cautious as if worried this might be having too many ideas.

“Not today,” Zariel said. He kept his frown off his face, because he knew it would worry Finch. How was this common whore meant to know what that offer meant? “But you will sleep in my bed tonight.”

“Yes, master. Thank you.”

Zariel braided his own hair swiftly. “Bring me one of the hair ties.”

Finch stood up quickly, walking to the dressing table, and froze when he got there. There was too much junk there for him to find what he was asked for.

“Under the book or in the drawer, I think,” Zariel said.

Finch found a strip of leather and offered it to Zariel.

“Undress for me, little bird,” Zariel said, as he tied off the braid.

Finch smiled. With absolute obedience, he quietly removed the outer robe and draped it over the back of the chair.

“I think you will sleep here often,” Zariel said. “I do not like to have an empty bed.”

“Oh,” Finch said, flummoxed by that piece of information. He removed the underrobe too, much slower, to make sure to show every inch of his naked body to Zariel.

“Get into bed,” Zariel ordered, with a small laugh. He could see what Finch was doing. Perhaps in the morning he would be more tempted.

Finch obediently got into the bed, on the side where he had spent the night last time. His instincts were right to assume that Zariel would want the same thing again.

Zariel took longer to get into bed, wasting a little time to reread a few letters by candlelight, spending some moments to finish undressing. When he slid under the covers, the bed was already warm from the heat of Finch’s body. He pressed himself against Finch’s back, hooking his arm around Finch’s waist. It was easy to fall asleep, and when his dreams roused him in the middle of the night, he found Finch sleeping beside him.


	9. Chapter 9

It was still dark when Finch woke up. A part of him registered surprise to be waking up at all – he had expected another miserably sleepless night. But the night was too long, and he was too tired to stay awake, and nothing had happened the previous time. Things added together the right way. Sometime in the middle of the night Zariel had rolled over onto his stomach away from him, breathing slowly and evenly, not waking up when Finch moved. There was nothing to do except wait until morning. Now that he was awake, he could not go back to sleep.

As the light turned grey, Finch watched Zariel. His braid had come loose in the night, and half of it was loose. The hair was as dark as spilled ink, reflecting nothing. Finch reached out to touch the ends. It was so thick and heavy and so smooth. Finch wanted to wrap it around his fist, but he did not dare risk waking Zariel up with something so stupid. He pulled his hand back as soon as Zariel moved. Something told him he did not want to be caught touching his master’s hair.

He watched Zariel wake up. How first Zariel stretched out on his stomach and yawned, then lay still and just breathed, his face turned away. Finch wondered if Zariel’s eyes were open or if he was trying to get back to sleep. Finch hoped a little that Zariel would go back to sleep. Another part of him hoped that Zariel would want him again this morning, so he had another chance to prove his usefulness.

The house was utterly quiet. It was that time of the morning when only the kitchen servants would be up. This was the time of day when Finch used to go to bed after a whole night’s work. Finch realised abruptly that now his life was going to be full of such minor differences, each one like a discordant note. But at least Zariel had said that he would not be sold. He could think about that. Thinking about the future any farther than a day ahead was a mistake.

Zariel turned onto his back and lay a hand on Finch’s hip. “You are awake?”

“Yes, master,” Finch answered, very quietly. Of course he was awake. What sort of slave would keep on sleeping while their master woke up anyway?

“Did you sleep well?”

“Ye—” Finch began, and then remembered that Zariel wanted no lies. He stopped, and then said, “Not so well, master. I am still getting used to it.”

“I see.”

Finch felt the abrupt need to explain, to excuse his failure. “It is just—” He stopped, realising he was speaking out of turn.

“Hm?” Zariel prompted.

With relief, Finch continued, “I am not used to sleeping at night, master. And I am not used to being in a bed like this.” Sleep had been an activity always performed in his narrow little bunk, on the hard, thin mattress and under cheap blankets. No doubt someone else already had that bed now.

“I understand.”

“Thank you, master.” It was the only response Finch could give, even though he was not sure that Zariel did understand.

In the ensuing silence, Zariel rolled onto his side to face Finch. His fingers traced lightly over Finch’s chest and stomach, pausing when Finch inhaled sharply. But then he went on, his fingers tracing over each of the piercings through Finch’s dick. He tugged lightly at ring through the head as Finch’s cock stiffened. Once, when Finch was still at the brothel, he had heard Zariel say that the piercings were barbaric, but they still turned Zariel on.

“Ah,” Finch said softly, encouraging. He needed Zariel to fuck him or he was the most pointless whore in existence. He spread his legs a little, wordlessly offering himself.

“My hair oil is on the dressing table,” Zariel stated.

“Yes, master.” Finch rolled out of bed immediately. He had spotted the small glass bottle before and found it quickly, even in the dim dawn light. The scent was familiar when he opened it – almond oil mixed with something else, rich and a little sweet. Probably something expensive that Finch did not know the name of. It seemed wasteful to use it as lubricant, but if that was what Zariel wanted…

“Come here,” Zariel commanded.

Finch moved as if pulled. He knelt on the bed to give Zariel the best view, slicking up his fingers with just enough of the oil and sliding two inside himself. He knew enough about Zariel to know that Zariel was not the sort of man that liked to hurt a whore, and that Zariel liked to see at least a show of enjoyment. So Finch knew how to close his eyes as he pushed his fingers deeper and part his lips a little as if he wanted to moan, but was too well-behaved to make a sound quite yet. Knowing exactly how not to overdo it had taken time, but he thought that he had it now.

“Good boy,” Zariel said, touching Finch’s hip lightly. “You know what I want.”

Finch smiled. This was the one thing that he did know about Zariel’s preferences. The man was an utter mystery to Finch apart from what he liked in bed. In the brothel, that had been all that was necessary. It would not be here. He pulled his fingers out and dropped a couple more drops of the oil on his palm. He wrapped his hand around Zariel’s cock, stroking it slowly, feeling it stiffen fully under his fingers as he spread the oil along the whole length. It was a good cock, not small, but not large enough to start making things more difficult. If Zariel was not his master, he could have even enjoyed this. But when the division of rank was so wide, forgetting himself would always be a terrible mistake.

Abruptly, Zariel pushed Finch sideways, turning him onto his stomach. There must have been something that Zariel did not like in his expression, Finch realised. But if no punishment was coming, it was best not to dwell on that. He raised his ass and spread his knees, getting into a good position. When Zariel smoothed a palm down his back, Finch shifted into a perfect arch.

“Good,” Zariel said.

Finch gasped as Zariel pushed inside him. He was tense and he had only done the minimal amount of preparation, not wanting to make Zariel wait. The sharpness of the pain focused him. He inhaled slowly as Zariel found his pace, and then went hunting for his own spark of pleasure. At least it was easy. Zariel knew how to fuck. Finch needed only to shift his hips a little and then Zariel was thrusting into him at just the angle to make his whole body shudder. He rocked back into it, letting himself moan quietly – so conscious that Zariel had liked to see him come every time. But it was impossible to relax enough to get there. Over the sounds of Zariel’s breathing, he could hear servants enter the front room to begin the preparations for the morning. Absurdly, he kept wondering what they would think if he came on the sheets.

“You’re distracted,” Zariel said. “Let’s see if I can get you to focus,” he said, wrapping his hand around Finch’s dick.

“I’m so—” Finch began to apologise and then whined as Zariel’s thumb pressed in the sensitive spot on the underside of the head. He rocked sharply back on Zariel’s cock, wanting more, wanting what he was not permitted to want.

“Like. That,” Zariel said, with a hint of a laugh in his voice.

Finch wanted to die and be swallowed by the earth. Here was his master touching his dick, instead of not thinking about it at all. “Ah,” he gasped out. “I’ll come,” he said, unable to get anything longer out.

“Exactly,” Zariel said, with a frustrating amount of self-control.

Finch stifled his moans in the pillow, ashamed of being unable to control what came out of his mouth. This was unfair. Where had Zariel learned to touch someone like that?

“Good boy.”

Zariel sounded pleased, and that had to mean Finch was doing something well. That was the last thought that Finch managed to have before he was coming, his body as taut as a bow string. He collapsed under Zariel’s weight when Zariel came too, both of them breathing hard. Finch let himself relax, feeling mostly relief.

Eventually, Zariel rolled off him. “That was difficult for you, wasn’t it?” he asked, touching Finch’s hip lightly. His breathing was already back to normal.

“I’m sorry, master,” Finch said, immediately worried that this was criticism. He had not exactly performed well. His master had to jerk him off to get him there.

“Things will be very different here,” Zariel said, settling on his side and stroking Finch’s back. “I understand you need some time to get used to them.”

“Yes, master,” Finch said. He wondered what the time limit on Zariel’s patience was. He hoped he would not find out.

“You have pleased me,” Zariel said. And then there was Irisel’s knock on the door. “Wait,” Zariel commanded sharply.

Finch bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to taste copper. So they were not done.

“Could you learn to like me, little bird?”

“Yes, master,” Finch said immediately. There was no other answer to that question. Even so, it was not a dishonest answer. Zariel was not unkind, he was handsome, he was better than average in bed. Finch knew he could make do with far less. 

“We will see, I suppose,” Zariel said.

There was nothing to say to that. A better liar might have claimed to like Zariel already, but Finch did not know how to make that convincing enough. He did not like Zariel. It was not as if he disliked Zariel either – he simply needed to please Zariel, because his life would be better if he did. He did not know what would happen if he failed, but he was certain that having a nice room and sleeping in Zariel’s bed would be infinitely preferable.

Finch glanced at Zariel’s face. Perhaps it was time to try his luck. “Master,” he said. “I would like to play music for you again.”

“Would you?” Zariel asked idly.

“Yes, master,” Finch said. “But I have nothing to play.”

“Ah,” Zariel said. “I see.”

Finch stayed very still and watched Zariel, wondering if there would be any different answer.

After a long pause, Zariel rolled out of bed and walked over to the washbasin. “How many strings?” he asked. “Twenty-one or twenty-five?”

“I am better with twenty-one, master,” Finch said, a little surprised. To most men, a zither was a zither. He knew how to play four different types, but he might as well ask for his favourite one if there might be a choice.

“Irisel!” Zariel called, putting on his underrobe.

Like every morning, Irisel entered and bowed. “Honoured Master of the Seven Sorrows.”

“Tell someone to find a twenty-one string zither. A good one,” Zariel said, with no ceremony whatsoever, in the middle of tying his hair up into a knot.

“Why?” Irisel looked so baffled Finch almost laughed.

“I wish to eat it,” Zariel said. “Why do you think? Is my bath ready?”

“Of course,” Irisel said.

“Good. Tell Lirin I wish to speak with her,” Zariel said.

“While you bathe?”

“Yes, while I bathe. I will not have time otherwise. And take care of him. I will not want him again until tonight.” And Zariel simply swept out.

Finch wondered what it felt like to be so certain that orders would be followed, that things could simply be left to someone less important. It _was_ entertaining to see Irisel swear as soon as Zariel was out of earshot.

“Are you happy today, you little shit?” Irisel said, looking immediately annoyed at Finch’s expression.

“I am glad I pleased my master, sir,” Finch replied, lowering his gaze demurely. Of course he had not been laughing at Irisel. Of course not. (He felt a little too invincible after Zariel had said he was happy with him, after Zariel had ordered a zither to be found. He should be more careful with that.)

“Go to your room. The sheets need to be changed.” Irisel was irritated, but he did not have time to do anything about it. Finch heard him swearing again as he left at a quick pace. Apparently finding Lirin was not always an easy task.

Finch rolled out of the bed and picked up the clothes he had worn last night. To put them on would dirty them, so he folded and rolled them up instead. With Irisel away, he peered into the front room, holding the bundle of clothes. Although he tried to sneak unnoticed to the adjoining rooms, one of the servants stopped him.

“This. You.”

With the accent and the non-existent sentence structure, it took Finch a moment to realise that the man was trying to give him a stuffed bun. Would someone get in trouble for this? Was he allowed to eat something so clearly from Zariel’s table? “Really?” Finch asked.

The man made an annoyed noise and put it directly in Finch’s hand, like Finch was the stupidest slave he had ever met. “Hot. Careful, yes? Now out.”

“Thank you,” Finch said. Before he could have a dilemma of how to show how grateful he was while holding robes in one hand and a still hot bun in the other, the man shoved him bodily out of the room. The most important thing was that he was out of the way.

Finch let out a breath as the door clicked shut behind him. He put the robes down on the chair. It was cold to be naked. For a moment he was indecisive, and then picked a sheet off the bed to wrap himself in. He should really clean up a little, but the heat of the bun against his palm was too tempting. Food in his hand was difficult to put down even for a moment. It would just not be as good when it was cold, and it was best to eat it now anyway, in case someone came.

He curled up in the chair that was warmed by the by the morning sun and started to eat in tiny, precise bites, trying to avoid burning his tongue and failing. The outside of the bun was cool enough, but the inside was still steaming. It tasted so good, with the dough fluffy and soft and the filling rich with dark meat and complicated spices.

Once he licked the last of the grease off his fingers, he closed his eyes and let his body feel good for a moment. He would go wash up in a bit. He was warm and he had eaten. He would have liked another bun, but that was a minor want. A little soreness in his ass was just a reminder that he had done his work well. His master would want him again tonight. The morning was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed the sex scene! things are looking up a little?  
> i've been struggling with writing, my mood has been in the toilet, so overall i am pretty pleased how this turned out


	10. Chapter 10

Finch was still in the same chair when his breakfast arrived. He had listened to all the sounds of Zariel getting dressed and leaving, to the servants cleaning the master’s rooms, and then to the silence after. It was nice to be alone for a little while, if only because he could relax after all those hours of tension. But then he got hungry and he was glad when a servant arrived with his porridge and tea.

“Thank you,” he said to her, but he got only a little grumble in reply. He still did not know what to do with all the hours of the day, most of them all alone. He ate the porridge slowly and drank the tea, enjoying both despite everything. Whatever happened, he could at least take pleasure in good cooking and tea leaves that had not had all the taste brewed out of them. He wondered a lot what it would be like to drink fresh tea with fresh tea leaves, but this was probably as close as he would get.

After that, he cleaned himself up as best he could at the washbasin. The pitcher had not been refilled since yesterday and there was less water than he needed. It was a little dispiriting. He was not yet enough of a part of the household for these things not to be easily overlooked. He wondered if he should try mentioning it to anyone. It seemed that some of the servants liked him for putting the master in a good mood, but he was certain they would not continue to be nice to him if he was annoying. He wanted more hot buns and he was certain he was less likely to get them if he said anything that might be construed as a complaint. It was best to say nothing. Being as sweet and unobtrusive as possible was the best strategy in a strange place.

He made sure to leave enough of the water to wash his face. He spent longer than he needed cleaning his teeth, wanting at least his mouth to be properly fresh. The tooth powder that had been left for him was fancier than any he had ever seen before – a paste that smelled of cloves and bright herbs in a little wooden box. Once he was done with all that, he found the plainest underrobe in the closet shelves and shrugged it on. It seemed absurd to put on silks so soon in the day when Zariel had made it clear that he would not be wanted until the evening, so he stayed in the underrobe. He would have preferred to wear a tunic and trousers for these hours of waiting around, but that was not an option here. It was harder to move in robes. They were long and crumpled easily and he was always a little worried about ruining the nice ones. But then, where would he need to move to? The entire point of him was to sit and wait around for his master’s command.

It was already afternoon when Lirin finally arrived. Finch had whiled away the time looking out of the window, watching the birds hopping from branch to branch. He had wanted to step out onto the wide windowsill and sit out in the air, but what if someone saw him? So it was relief to no longer be alone. He jumped up from his chair and turned to her, with that little half-bow of respect.

“Come, bath,” she told him, like he was a dog, and Finch went eagerly after her. It was down to the bathroom he suspected was for the use of higher-ranked servants, and the water was steaming. Finch got into it with a pleased little sigh. Hot baths entirely to himself had always been a rare luxury. He scrubbed himself efficiently with the washcloth, not wanting to waste too much of Lirin’s time. She looked bored as she watched him. He kept glancing at her, wondering what had made her scars – deep slashes across her right cheek and forehead. The scar tissue looked tight. He so rarely made a habit of looking at people’s faces that he noticed only now that her right eye did not open fully.

Lirin clicked her tongue at him when she caught him staring. “Little brat,” she said, but she did not seem angry. She was used to being stared at. He had only taken longer than usual to get around to it. “If you have time to look at me, does that mean you are done?”

Finch bowed his head. “Almost, ma’am.” He stepped out of the bath and dried himself. He wondered what Zariel had spoken to her about. He was certain he would never find out. It was not the sort of thing he could ask, and she did not seem like the sort of person to just tell him.

“I should take you to the shrine, I suppose, since I have some time.” She had promised and she kept her promises.

Finch looked up at her quickly. Right now, going outside was the most thrilling thing that could possibly happen in his life and he did not want to do anything to sabotage this chance. He said nothing, waiting to see if she meant it.

“Come on, get dressed,” she ordered.

Finch put the underrobe back on quickly. She gave him soft shoes and a plain light grey robe, soft and freshly laundered. It was a slightly finer version of the robes the servants wore. Clearly, what he should wear when his master was unlikely to call on him. It even had pockets and an odd concealed slit in the side.

“What should I change into this evening?” Finch asked, while tying his hair back. It was hard to get it neat. It curled in ways Finch did not like, and if he left it loose it was all fluffy around his face. He had never worn it this short and he hated it. He hoped it would grow again quickly.

“Whatever you like,” Lirin answered. Finch’s closet did not contain too many items of clothing, and they were all appropriate enough. “Do I need to send someone to assist you?”

“No!” Finch said quickly. If he was allowed to have it, he preferred privacy while getting ready. Surely he did not need to be supervised while stretching his ass and putting on ridiculously expensive clothes. “No, ma’am. I can do it myself. I just wondered. If there was something Lord Zariel would prefer.”

“I think you know how to please him, judging by his mood this morning.”

Finch smiled, unable to hide his happiness that someone saw he had done well. It was childish to show it that way, he knew, but he had no one else to share this with.

Lirin tsked at him. “Tell me one thing. Your name. Why a bird name in Rwene?”

“Oh,” Finch said. He had not expected that question, somehow. “It’s meant to be fashionable.”

Lirin laughed. “What?”

“Master – I mean, my previous master. He liked to have all the names match. Some houses use flowers or trees. Things like that. He liked birds,” Finch answered. It seemed absurd to have to explain. This was so obvious.

“Do you not have any other names?”

“My master chooses my name,” Finch said, a little puzzled at this question.

“What did your mother call you?”

“I don’t remember,” Finch said. “I was very young.”

Lirin frowned. “That seems cruel to me. Even a person that is bound to another should have their own name. If your kin did not name you, one day you must go to a priest to be named. Otherwise your spirit will wander forever once you are dead.”

Finch blinked. “Will it?”

“Don’t you know this?” Lirin said. “Wandering ghosts are terrible things.”

Privately, Finch thought this had to be some weird northern belief. Everyone knew all spirits went to the Goddess of Death, where she decided if they would be reborn or stay in her gardens forever. “No one has taught me these things, ma’am,” he said, diplomatic. As a principle, he did not disagree with anyone on religion. He had spent his life praying to the minor gods: the spirits of the hearth and flame that kept a house in order, the goddesses of musicians and artists for steady hands, the spirits of the seasons for good fortune, the various minor deities whose domains were over physical health. Anything more complicated than a small offering was not his business.

“They should have,” Lirin said, somehow affronted on his behalf.

“Yes, ma’am,” Finch agreed easily.

Lirin looked at him with a kind of exasperation, then she sighed. She was clearly feeling like this might be her problem. “Let us go.”

Finch followed her all the way to the ground floor before he managed to ask, “Should I have an offering to bring?”

“Lord Taehe burned your hair for the god the day you arrived,” Lirin answered. “I think you’re paid for. Next time.”

“Ah, I understand,” Finch said. He wanted to offend a god even less than he wanted to offend his master.

“I will give you some incense to burn,” Lirin said. “So you will not be completely empty handed, hm?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Finch said.

And then they were out in the kitchen gardens through a servants’ door. Lirin crossed them quickly, but Finch breathed in deeply, relishing the scents of growing herbs. He had to speed up abruptly as she clicked her tongue at him, and half-ran to join her at the doorway that opened into the more formal gardens, where everything was perfectly sculpted and no leaf was out of place. It was beautiful. Though autumn was coming, the garden was planted with enough flowers that were still blooming that Finch wanted to linger, if only he could.

This was not the courtyard garden he could see from his window – this was a broader, wider expanse, with a perfectly manicured path that followed a row of trees and wound around a pond, leading to a low stone building. Finch supposed that he should really have been thinking about something else other than how much he wanted to run barefoot on the grass, because Lirin grabbed his arm to stop him abruptly.

“We wait,” she said.

“Ma’am?” Finch asked cautiously.

“That is Lord Taehe’s sword.” It was leaning against the wall next to the doorway of the shrine, in a plain black scabbard. It looked much like any other sword to Finch. He wondered how she could identify it so easily.

“He will not take long,” Lirin said, tugging Finch into the shade of a tree.

Finch obediently followed, though he would have liked to stay in the sun, so warm on his face (but it was better to be in the shade. Tanned skin was not attractive, and he did not need more freckles). They waited in silence. Finch preferred that. He looked up to watch the leaves swaying in the breeze. It was such a nice day, with the warmth of late summer. It was the sort of day that Finch would have loved to spend lounging somewhere in the sun, alone. Back at home, he would have climbed out of that attic window that was never latched properly, walked along the windowsill and then lay down on the roof. That little rebellion had always been tolerated. He wished he knew what would be tolerated here.

“Finally,” Lirin muttered, straightening out of her lean against the tree as Taehe left the shrine and picked up the sword.

Of course they were spotted, almost instantly. Finch bowed deeply – going as far as Lirin’s hand on his elbow allowed.

“What is this, Lirin?”

“He wished to greet your god in person, Lord Taehe,” she answered, and Finch was amazed at her casual tone. “I thought I should show him how to do it properly.”

“I see. Don’t you have better things to do?”

Finch kept his eyes down. He was no more part of this conversation than the grass or the tree or the nearby shrub.

“I would not trust just anyone with this,” Lirin said.

“You missed your calling,” Taehe said drily. “Truly, we should have sent you to a temple.”

Lirin laughed quietly. “Have a good day, Lord Taehe.”

When Taehe simply nodded in acknowledgement and walked on, Finch wondered how on earth she could have the confidence to dismiss a lord.

“Come on,” Lirin commanded.

Finch stopped and stared when she paused on the threshold and pulled out a blade as long as his forearm from somewhere inside her robes.

“What?” she asked, at his dumbfounded expression, and took out a second dagger. “It is rude to take weapons into a god’s house.”

“Yes,” Finch agreed, though that was not at all what he was wondering about. Everyone knew weapons should be left outside a shrine or a temple. What he did not understand was why someone he had thought was a housekeeper had anything to leave.

“I really prefer a sword,” she mused, watching him stare at the daggers. “But the rules about carrying swords are absurd here.”

This was even more baffling. “Why would you have a sword?” Finch said, unable to stop himself. He had always known that only nobles and soldiers carried swords. That was just how it was.

Lirin laughed like the question was absurd, like he was adorably ignorant. “I am of the steppe. To be a woman I must have both a bow and a sword.”

“Oh,” Finch said. He understood instantly. It was the same thing as the way his patrons carried their freedom in the clothes they chose to wear, in the ways they behaved, in the manners they got to use. These people would judge him by the weapons he did not own. Where Lirin was from, that was the mark of a person.

“In you go,” Lirin said.

Finch stepped into the little temple. The smell of fresh incense lingered in the air and the ashes in the offering bowl were still smoking. Days ago, his hair had been burned there. For a second, he resented the God of Dusk for getting to have one of his best assets, but he quashed that treasonous thought. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he looked at the depiction of the god as the Finder of Ways – a hooded figure carved out of dark wood, carrying a stick like a blind person, and with fresh flowers piled at the statue’s feet. It was a strangely ambiguous carving. Finch was used to seeing this god depicted as a man carrying a lantern, but this seemed better, somehow.

As carefully as before his master, Finch sank to his knees and prostrated himself. He heard Lirin kneel behind him as he rested his head on the wooden floor. A part of him wished to relax and just lie there until he died. The despair overwhelmed him like a wave. So many things were terrible, and he expected no help from any god. He did not even know where to start praying to this particular one.

Finch sat up when he heard Lirin move behind him and turned his head to watch her unlock a chest and measure out the incense. She gave him four brownish lumps, like little pebbles. Finch raised them to his nose and inhaled the sweet scent. It was not the same incense as what Taehe had burned, but it also smelled expensive, a little like the stuff he had been allowed to use to perfume the room for really important patrons. He dropped them one by one in the embers of the sacred fire. As he watched the filaments of white smoke winding towards the ceiling, he thought about absolutely nothing.

Lirin gave him unexpectedly long before she coughed to get his attention. She spoke a simple prayer to honour the God of Dusk, making him repeat each phrase. Though the particular words she used were not familiar, it was the standard sort of thing, about they submitted before the greatness of the god, pleasantly rote. It was good to learn the proper phrasings, so he would know not to embarrass himself another time. Finch bowed again when it was done, pressing his forehead back to the floor.

When he heard Lirin stand to leave, he stood up too and took a single step back. He bowed deeply to the statue once more before backing out, not wanting to offend his master’s god. Being in the temple felt as fraught as kneeling before Zariel. He was glad to be back out in the sun. While he waited for Lirin to put her daggers back wherever she kept them under her layers of robes, he got to just stand there and breathe. Today was better than yesterday, at least. He had eaten a fresh bun, and had breakfast, and had a bath, and got to be outside. That was the best thing of all.

“You look happy standing there,” Lirin observed.

Finch flushed as if she had caught him doing something embarrassing.

“You like the sun, hm?”

He bowed his head and smiled slightly. There was no point in denying it. “I like being outside,” he admitted, though he knew that he should be an indoor sort of songbird.

“I can’t imagine you got to do that much,” Lirin said. Finch’s skin was so white it was almost translucent.

“Sometimes I got to sit in the house garden,” Finch said. “It was. Really small. But I liked it. And sometimes I got to go to the market. With the guard.” It had always been a treat – he got to buy sweets and trinkets with the few coins he was allowed to keep – but he had also understood why it was allowed. Good boys got a little reward, and people got to see what they could buy at that particular house. It had been best when it was him, Sparrow and the tall guard, the one that let them wander as they liked and even go to the tea shop.

“That’s… Nice,” Lirin said, looking pityingly at him.

Finch went even redder. He should not have said anything. It was not like she was his friend. He had no friends here.

“Come, I need to put you back,” Lirin said.

Obediently, Finch followed her back to the house, but he did notice she took the long way around the gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry depression temporarily ate my ability to write  
> thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter, it really helped <3


End file.
